I will admit, it was the title of this poem that initially caught my eye, but it’s just beautiful. I hope you like it. Happy Thanksgiving.
returns like an expatriate, a defector
from the forest. Her feet are wrapped
in old rose petals, her eyes
are the color of wet sand under moss.
She guides a wounded caravan
of spiders and dilapidated memories.
Combing her dripping hair with elegant
fingers, she announces the forsythia and pain.
She waits in the summerhouse
for summer while the moon comes in empty,
a ship bearing her transparent name.
~ Richard Shelton
from The Tattooed Desert