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.