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Two Poems


Santorini

Mother of Stone, Cybele,
Stone Mother, keep me low,
Resigned, involved, confusable
As to the novice eye the vine
With wild thyme and caper, close
To your chemic soil—
Ash, tuff, and pumice—twined
In on itself to stand
Up under summer wind
And to condense the sure, sheer mist
That plumps until night harvest
Grapes tanged with sulfur, pressed
Then to a salt-tinged must,
Oak barrel ready,
A touch acidic, wit-dry, heady.
 

Psalm on Sifnos

One does not want,
O Lord, to heap
Up by still waters
Of words a cairn
But hopes to attend
A small covert
Of tamarisk
Whose leaves salty
Yet feathery
Will shed light over
The thickened plot.

One wants at last
To cede the field
To tamarisk
And mastic tree,
To olive and stone,
Stones in the fruit,
Seed in the stones.


Stephen Yenser

Stone Fruit
Waywiser Press / Dufour Editions


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