The Maynard
Fall 2019

In the Orchard

20

color suddenly       the holy
fluke of a saint’s shape

in a spill       there she is
       at the smear’s edge

black as habit       a decision
       I see chest and neck

like terrarium       bleeding
greens       two leaves bother

around her head       moths
at the strongest source

of bright       this might not
be the sprawl that I think

it is       but excavation
       archeology’s cleaning

away       the face needs
little to appear       a brush

run across it       removal
of dust and some light


22

looking closer I whisper
my god to myself       wisps

of hair       serrated leaf
       each striation in bark

is not accident       god’s
accuracy is in his fluent

nuance       is it blasphemy
       yes       even the translucent

green is right       what passes
through to viewer       me

       she lays her crossed arms
on the bicep of a giant

oak holding her       woods
host only visitants       god

said I’ll start with this
small plot and started

       the world in this way
is instructions       hold

a tea-stained napkin up
behind trees and say here

is the sky       dress a woman
darkly       accompany her

with nothing but others
who’ll come to watch

       a chorus of leaf leaning
into the maestro       my god


24

I’ve seen the blessed be
given gold       it brings

the light to them       much
like the horse the candle

is still a unit of measurement
       blown-out face utterly

white       was it brilliant
day did this or the artist

choosing not to give skin
to anything but an apple

in the dirt       carmine
and lenticel       he made

her birch       shadow where
there’s breathing       seraph

pausing between holies
       I have a single psalm too