CHRISTINE PALM
ON YOUR LEAVING FLORIDA
You have seen for the last time the tapered white ibis.
Long hours alone, you watched them settle,
Strange little ghosts gliding to the meadow.
And the long light gone,
You saw black palms fan against the vermilion.
Then cinnabar to black, and far stars faced you.
But you have left that now to cross again
The small dark rivers with beautiful names.
The Po and the South Anna.
The first time, we crossed them together.
Did you remember, this time, to watch the swells of blackbirds
Break into cinders above your car?
The Connecticut River races you past mill towns
And tobacco nets shroud your memory of gardenia.
Now that you are home, what welcome have I given you?
It should have been as the blue flame of an iris.
I cannot say
why it is one lone petal,
penitent and tremulous.
