Re-visit

She steps into the shady swamp
hands twitching, soul folded
     where the long wait ends.
                     The secret smooth package
                     drops into the weeds, tender and small.

            She extends her swan neck and tongues it
            between breaths slack with frustration,
and after a while it ascends and becomes a creature
like her, tender and small.

So now there are two. They walk together
              like mist through the trees.
         In early April, at the edge of a field
         painted with daffodils
         I meet them.

I can only stare.

              Her child leaps among the flowers,
            the blue silk of sky falls over me,
          the flowers burn, and I want to live
        my life all over again, to begin again,
               to be utterly wild.

After Mary Oliver