copyright 1968 by Tracy Marks
The violet taste of rushing water seered
My lips as silent rain
Last summer. How was I to pay the price?
How could I spare the pain?
The waters rise with eager promise, tease
My wounds; they shall relieve
The stench of stagnant autumn, whispering
Their secrets. I believe
You have returned because of me. Can you
Prove that leaves are fire,
Pour the violet waters for me, heedless
Of transformed desire,
Lay fallow colors by this waking stream?
You then would leave. I fear
That you would slip away as you have come,
But drinking, I will find the waters clear.
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