AGNES SEELEY

My heart goes out to Agnes Seeley,

Fragile as a grand blue heron

Steeping soft, on thin stilt legs,

Through swamp or glen.

Why, a man who struck them crosswise...

Whamp! with a stiff, tough-hided arm

Could set her turning cartwheels on one wing,

Leaving circled patterns in the mud.



Amen, dear Agnes Seeley,

I’ll make them plant a cypress 

Where you lay.

Encarved on its thick trunk,

Above its knees,will say:

Her sphere was where the grand birds sing.

What a pity such blithe agility

Was linked or caused by such fragility.