Don’t lock me in wedlock, I want
marriage, an
encounter—

I told you about the
green light of
May

               (a veil of quiet befallen
               the downtown park,
               late

               Saturday after
               noon, long
               shadows and cool

               air, scent of
               new grass,
               fresh leaves,

               blossom on the threshold of
               abundance—

               and the birds I met there,
               birds of passage breaking their journey,
               three birds each of a different species:

               the azalea-breasted with round poll, dark,
               the brindled, merry, mousegliding one,
               and the smallest. golden as gorse and wearing
               a black Venetian mask

               and with them the three douce hen-birds
               feathered in tender, lively brown

                I stood
                a half-hour under the enchantment,
                no-one passed near,
                the birds saw me and

                let me be
                near them.)

     It’s not
     irrelevant:
     I would be 
     met

     and meet you
     so,
     in a green

     airy space, not
     locked in.