modern poetry

long ago, in the young moonlight
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
do not grieve that it is over
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
when you come tonight
from our hidden places
green afternoon serene and bright
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
she might have known it in the earlier spring
beneath the warrior's helm
little park that i pass through