After a Certain Number of Years the Light Changes

After a Certain Number of Years,
the Light Changes


Abstraction growing bones
landscape built up
grain by grain, sand
cut by the thin line
of a river, pelvis

and flower in the changing
light, and I am here.
All afternoon wind
tips of the willow

yellow as summer
writhe before my window.
What was my first poem?
Mythe of the Ghostly Lover?
A decorated landscape?

One thing I know:
I am rooted in the landscape.
In the year of the horse
I am starting again.

How do I get back?
Under the current thought,
a thought, and under that,
bare bones, bare bones,
the light changes.


This is the dream world
the earth of the body.
In the year of the poem,
the mote, in the light
is a minute horse flying.

Copyright © Mary Crow
—first published in Plaza of Encounters
Latitudes Press, 1981
—reprinted in Borders
BOA, Editions, Ltd., 1989
Posted over on Mary Crow's Blog