Twilight, Early Spring Poem by Daniel Brick

(I)

She sits very still
in a grassy plot that will
soon be night, crossed with shadows,
pierced by shafts of piercing moonlight,
in the shallow darkness of early spring.

I am standing a short distance from her
in a grove of trees with pale green leaves.
There is no breeze. Every leaf is still,
even my breathing is slow and soundless.
Her twilight complexion is more beautiful

than twilight itself."Turn toward me, "
I plead. "See me, greet me." To no avail.
I walk tentatively behind her, and enter
the edge of her grassy plot. Suddenly
I feel like an interloper, and leave quickly.

As I turn away, as I walk away,
her presence weighs on me. I feel motionless
air on my arms and face, I see traces of moonlight
on my clothes, even the silence touches me.
But that girl of spring touches me most deeply.

Why do moon and trees, air and heat, darkness
and fading light all acknowledge me, and yet
she is silent, self-absorbed, distant even
in nearness? We are sharing this silence.
We are of one mind. It should be a shared spring.


(II)

The air is moist with desire.
We are just beginning to become
"Spring People." The heaviness of winter
still holds many people in its cold grip.
"Look at the sky! " I want to shout at them.

The warmth washes over me with its pure air.
I am cleansed by it, I shine because it
covers me with illumination. This is as
close to the Garden as we can be, and
it is a wonder to be shared with someone dear.

Who is that guy who's been eyeing me
for two hours? He approaches me timidly,
then withdraws boldly. I hope he reverses
his actions. He is obviously a man of Nature
and Desire. Come over here. Speak to me.