keith holyoak

     It’s spring, and still
you're away, my Pony Boy,
     while the days grow warm
and birdsong swells to crescendo.

      This change of season
cuts like a new farewell—
      now who do I have
to share my bits of wisdom?

The stream runs free
alongside the empty path,
     from village gate
down into distant shadow;

     My torrent of sadness
will drain away in my dreams
     while my back is warmed
by spring sun through my window.

© 2004 by Keith Holyoak (translator)
First printed in Candelabrum Poetry Magazine (2004)