My Lover Gave Me Green Leaves

My lover gave me green leaves

with the mud of the garden on them,

radishes sharp and red,

nasturtium flames.

He gave me the tender heart

of a cabbage, its glossy coat,

a loaf of bread studded deep with seeds.

He gave me the note the blackbird

I’d cried at the blackness of by the river sang.

He gave me the struck fire of the thoughts

in his mind—flint on flint.

He gave me the taste,

direct on his tongue,

of the syllables their embers did not destroy.

He gave me his word,

the word of an Adam—a promise,

should he set eyes on the sun.

He gave me a drop of the dew to hold.

To see my face in it.

To look through.

He gave me, in the chrisomed palm

of his empty hand—a gasp of joy.

--Josephine Dickinson--