Linda Gregg

The Wind Blowing Through a Tree

Clamour of amplitudes
of the body's disunity, of carrying bread
home from the bakery and feeling
its heat gradually diminish
against the heart.
Learning the complexity. Picking up
pieces of ancient ceramics and seeing
they are not a thing but a mold
of the thing, and that thing
Aphrodite on her throne.
Four goats nearby and the water
shining down below.
The regal scent of eucalyptus
in the motionless summer heat.
It is not that the darkness
must be there, but that it sometimes is.