AT THE LORD JEFFREY INN

Waiting on my sleep to be over
to visit Emily Dickinson
here at this Amherst morning
with a rose or two to deliver
to you on your grave
in a sodden greensward field
knowing your spirit
assails and prevails on me
this assiduous season
as you gave me another
Autumn by watering leaves
falling from Elms
in a rain swept dawn
to hear your voice
inform me over soft verses
in a shepherd's field memory
of a brother poet's walk again
on the Common.