I know a long green woman,
whose robes trail
along the sides of mountains,
follow the paths of rivers,
linger in forest shadows.
Whose face is high,
beyond the mountain’s reach.
Her sheer garments,
grim greys and brilliant blues,
disguised, in sky and clouds.
A long green woman,
whose train
softly caresses my face,
in the night,
with the whisper of dew
on the grass.
Where I stare, I see her turning,
her billowing sheers sweep round her.
Enchantress—
She turns and gazes at me,
turns once more,
and all sweeps away.
Her veils,
trailing over the earth,
far to the east,
to foothills;
down river valleys,
to the sea;
far to the north,
along mountain ridges,
mists
drifting gently,
wistfully.
I know her by her passage.
She, moving,
Unfelt, unnoticed,
sensed,
along path and edge,
turning leaves
to twisting tops
or whirl-a-gigs.
I see her lying at the edge,
between earth and sky,
resting for weeks,
her cloaks covering the land.
She broods in thunder clouds,
strikes out sparks to ground,
terrifies horses –
run pell-mell
across the range.
Whose tears are shed too soon,
whose floods cascade mud and rocks
rushing, running, down, down,
cracking, grinding, roaring.
I know a long green woman
who teases me, with glimpses of her,
as she turns.
Does she have blood-red lips
and coal black eyes;
are her fingers long and slender,
adorned with earthly gems?
I feel her smile at me
and you
and all of us.
I know a long green woman
who sends scents
of grass and poplar
through spring’s air.
Who, over time, her time
has carved the ocean’s edge.
Whose powers of attraction
draw up red-burning magma
from earth’s seething depths
and spill it down
volcano sides.
I know a long green woman
who speaks in thunder, quake and flood.
The same
who kisses awake
the butterfly
in summer sun.
I know a long green woman
who dives
into ocean depths;
whose trains
churn currents.
Who swims
in the blue-green bore,
following tide’s ebb and flow—
veils turn to foam.
I know a long green woman
whose fingers touch the stars
whose shroud sweeps
through black space
as she turns away again.
I find her at the beach,
by the water’s edge
where salt meets sand
and stays in solution.
She floats in the green-yellow light of afternoon,
under the trees,
by the quiet pool,
where fish watch
for flies to settle.
Lowering, cool,
she descends,
as coal-black light,
over the tree-covered hills.
I see her, driving toward me,
in the whirling, dizzying,
spiralling,
squall of snow
When she is cold in midwinter,
I find her
in my mountain cave
by the fire,
though she flees from my sight,
ever turning.
I know a long green woman –
whispers, roars,
teases, soothes,
moistens, dries,
thrills, frightens,
consoles, elates—
whose presence
makes the fullness.
For more poems in this series, See https://zettaangus.com/2017/11/08/writing-in-green/
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