White Lupin

One day, playing in the blue-purple lupins,

trying to keep the goats from eating

jade-green succulent poisonous leaves,

I find a white lupin among the indigo ones.


My hand twitches, I want so to pick it,

to feel the snap of the stalk, the cool sap,

to bear it home in triumph in the midst

of a large bunch of its common brethren.


But I pause, just touch its pale petals,

with only a touch of pink, caress them.

I let the lupin go, take only the others,

leave it to breed more such strangers.


I know I must learn to leave you soon;

the past is like that lupin, foreign now,

it must stay there, in the lupin fields,

like the you of that time, brown-haired

and smiling, carrying me so easily

on your wide shoulders, without pain.


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