The Clearing

The dog and I push through the ring

of dripping junipers

to enter the open space high on the hill

where I let him off the leash.

He vaults, snuffling, between tufts of moss;

twigs snap beneath his weight; he rolls

and rubs his jowls on the aromatic earth;

his pink tongue lolls.

I look for sticks of proper heft

to throw for him, while he sits, prim

and earnest in his love, if it is love.

All night a soaking rain, and now the hill

exhales relief, and the fragrance

of warm earth. . . . The sedges

have grown an inch since yesterday,

and ferns unfurled, and even if they try

the lilacs by the barn can’t

keep from opening today.

I longed for spring’s thousand tender greens,

and the white-throated sparrow’s call

that borders on rudeness. Do you know—

since you went away

all I can do

is wait for you to come back to me.

Copyright Credit: Jane Kenyon, "The Clearing" from Collected Poems. Copyright © 2005 by the Estate of Jane Kenyon. Reprinted by permission of Graywolf Press.

Source: Collected Poems (Graywolf Press, 2005)