“For Gawain” By Mike Tucker

An emerald, a clover, grass that’s waiting to be cut,

cat’s eyes and Sheehan’s light, the beam of a young man’s heart.

Beveled glass in the morning light, palm fronds, pumpkin stem, chameleon’s  default.

Please don’t lose your head.

 

Merlin’s cloak, sheep’s pasture, a fresh and virgin spring.

oak leaves and holly sprig, m’ lady’s velvet robe

A Season in Hell all bound up tightly in green.

Please don’t lose your head.

 

A chapel in the wood, dense and overgrown, lush leaves and

ivy creeping up the walls, the smell of rain, the apple worm,

sea glass on sandy shores, the tree outside my window, cracked.

Please don’t lose your head.

 

Gaian mind, moss creeping over rocks,

smooth surface of the water,

sharp flash of the glittering eel

like Mercury on white-crested waves  or

a snake in the grass

in the nick of time

he  slinks off

into one more starless sun rise

off he swims

away he swims

carrying your head

as the last leaf falls

from off the tree.