Beverly Burch

Darkness lifts and I'm left in lemony light.
O body, able to breathe again. True in and out,

not that ragged and irregular as a churned sea.
I've lost desire, the urgent need

for the unknown thing. Yearning no longer
roils the air the way the storm swept up

the yard, taking blossoms, menacing small birds
who furled their wings and bowed.

Sweet tranquility, sweet grass. Leaves shake
their soft points, slow green dancers.

The trees nod quietly, absent fragile chains
of white blossoms. O peace, leave me

a little want, pure as an adolescent buzz,
clear as tequila in a china teacup.