Something Else

There's the lush grass again,
the white pines green and mysterious.
And the barn, too, in the distance,
fading red, the color of longing.
The afternoon light is gilding the hillside,
the clouds are moving together,
huge, incipient thoughts,
and you're swooning with desire
wanting the beautiful to lie down with you,
gold-leaf your fingertips and tongue,
green you with fragrance
though you don't know exactly
what you're after, whether it's beauty itself
or whatever lives inside it,
elusive, entire,
peripheral to your wanting—
shadow of wings
you catch obliquely
along the woods' edge,
river that you hear
without listening.

--Gregory Djanikian