Upon the advice of the sage
Who under–valued himself
I followed my instincts
to my grandparents’ graves
The largest orange ball I ever saw
lingered, staring, sunsetless on the horizon
I found myself in a vast tundra
snow anonymizing the headstones
and realized I would never find them
I found myself amid the shrubbery
Gazing at a statue
Some ode to summer
I first thought of Daphne
the cruel beckoning of innocence
Her regal repose, fully human
rump reclining atop a vined column
a jump–rope of flora in her hands
changed all that
I thought of Fragonard
Where snow buries graves
Here, it was petals of the season
accentuating her flowers
As white stone escaped
from the black barnacles of time
in spectacular bare shoulders
and graceful arms
Oh, gorgeous stomach
Oh, flowing, robust curves
Oh, folds, enfold me in every part
Oh, neck, throbbing with life
whose pronounced crook
speaks the truth
take me