the house of a suicide)
dowered his daughter here with this island:
everything, million-pinned redwood, hummingbird,
holly leaf, sweet honeysuckle,
and feathery ridges, thistledown
wherever it wants to go, fog in the vales,
presses itself on the sight like a dream,
bright, just as the vision expected.
hills of wild rye rise up, like cumulus, golden
your brow, and below, like a chasm, the long
spears reach up to your feet.
on this island Prospero's daughter died;
her own hand she canceled these horizons.
her whatever question you will, she burns
of the blue sky, terrible, mute.
April Wind, © 1991. Reprinted by
of University Press of Virginia.