Aubade Now of Earth
A poem by Jane Hirshfield
Sun on it again, at first tender.
The color of apricots ripening into.
At first there was more to eat, then suddenly less.
For one night only, naked in my arms,
wrote Beatriz of Dia, in twelfth-century Occitan,
to her longed-for lover.
Aubade now of earth. Of water. Of herons and fishes.
Dawn after dawn one night only, we woke in your arms.