MUST I WAIT

Must I wait, a fool, for that cold sun,

Morning-stealthy-amber, to glaze that sill

And this white wall once more, to watch the doom

The secret spider spin-fall-fills the bloom

Of rose from bud to ancient bud, for God knows

What design:  weightless, patient, thin and slow. . .

As time fine-traced, woven oboe deep, and low

Wet to dew dawn’s chill:  yet once dried, glows

As hair along a wrist, blond and salt and soon,

Seared of sun forever, scarred alone for whom

But me to watch, but knowing still that it will

Not be spun again, and would not be undone.

(Clicking on images enlarges them.)