jocelyn vye

I’ve learned to regret little
And nearly nothing fully

Even so I’m discomposed
When I weigh
The fallow sap
In which I’ve indulged
Instead of the poetry—
The definition devoid
The depth deserving
So inscrutable an intellect—
Of the Arbutus of Amherst

Thank the lord for Lavinia
What wandering would have
Borne me in vain pursuit
Of verse so rich without?

Feeling a farewell due
Such a curious creature
As we’re unlikely to
Unearth again
I’ll bequest this tiny token:

We’re not from here.

There then
It’s the least I can lend
My most treasured truth
Devoted in deference
To so select few

Abloom in your garden
Did flecks of your fascination 
Scatter when you succumbed 
In Immortality?
Did you deliver dust
Across ages
Pollinating these unpolished
Stigmas with the same
Willful wonder for Life
You conveyed to confidants?

You petitioned your preceptor
Guide your growth
But blight can’t bite 
The Apple that blossoms
Unsoiled in her room

Your gnome,
J Vye