Travelling Standing Still/Spring Touch

by Genevieve Taggard

SPRING TOUCH

How tender-mad the little meadows lie!The wobbling lambs are tasting milky weeds,The tipsy treesAre leaned like foam on green, wind-gullied seas;The pale moth flutters where the pale moth leads,And you, swimming the skyWaist deep in surf of apple-blossoms—I,Sweet to your thigh,Take the new tingle of your froth of seeds.