Edward Harkness: Two Rondeaux

1.

More and more I repeat myself. Even this 

note to swallows, alders, summer and fall 

echoes again off the canyon wall.

.

Each time we kiss, love, it’s the first kiss.

The others? Gone. Some I well recall. 

More and more I repeated myself. Even this 

note to sparrows, willows, summer and fall.

.

Years drop from calendars into the abyss,

Word by word: names, places, birdsong…all.

But then…a vase of roses in the hall.

More and more I repeat myself. Even this 

note to winter, spring, summer and fall 

echoes again off the canyon wall.

.

2.

Two petals appeared this morning, love, one red,

one yellow, fallen from the Ball jar vase.

We’re brief as breath, we two, like grief, like grace.

.

Let’s be comets at twilight, you said.

Or two dim stars, twins, face to aging face.

This evening I count five, love, three red,

two yellow, fallen from the Ball jar vase.

.

The permanent parting – that’s what I dread,

not being here or anywhere, lost in space.

When roses go, their scent lingers in their place.

This morning, a scattering: five red,

four yellow, fallen from the Ball jar vase.

We’re brief as breath, we two, like grief, like grace.

---

Copyright 2023 Edward Harkness

The Law of the Unforeseen, Edward Harkness’ third full-length collection of poems was published by Pleasure Boat Studio. He lives with his wife, Linda, in Shoreline, Washington.