Tuesday Poem: published in Poems of Awakening, an anthology edited by Betsy Small

I Dreamt the Green Hands of the Clock


rolling backwards, merciful in their pull
toward the deep green days of our marriage,
of being luminous as a new shoot in your arms,
the puddle green of your kisses, the green tree-belly
moonlight over our bed, as the damp green
song of peepers frizzled the air, you on your knees
above me, the Spanish moss of your hair swaying
as we rose in the soft growing dance of love,
those greenest moments of our conviction.

How sweet then, to awaken
fresh from a night like this, still beside you,
to stand rubbing our eyes in disbelief
as we look out the window at this fog,
thick and pale hydrangea green,
turning the buildings, everything, alien,
this lightning raging across the city on long white legs,
how sweet to feel as if we were just born yesterday,
the green hands of the clock rolling
backwards, merciful in their pull.