Crowd my eyes, you bevies of daffodils,
And you forsythias in throngs of cheer,
Dandelion galaxies and fountains of trees.
Fill my mouth with the breath of hyacinths, you purple air
And you roistering breeze.
And you quince-buds so eager, you swelling seeds,
You squirrels running stitches across the loom
Of woven grasses, inflorescent weeds;
Jasmine-bush, loop me with your lariats of perfume.
Fill me, small birds, with your versicles,
And chuckled replies.
She is bleeding from the mouth and eyes.
Sate me then, Sun, all dapple and spangle
Crowd out all else
Lade me and load me, you skies
With blessings of warmth and breath
Let me see nothing else
But everything springing and skyey.
From the mouth and eyes.
. . . . . . . . .
for Terri Schindler Schiavo
by Juli Loesch Wiley
Thanks to Juli for granting permission for noncommercial use of her poem.
