But to the Season

When is the last time you read poetry about relationships rather than the self?

The Bristol Gazette, U.K.

That was spring’s going: fingers of stroking son
Casting a crinkle into the water’s face
And a winking brighter than before, and bolder,
She with her knees confined in the loose embrace
Of arms still pale to the bare of shoulder,
Shy to the glance of sun on the summer dress;
He no more than a half a season older…
He no more than a half a season older…