Stepping Westward

What is green in medarkens, muscadine.

If woman is inconstant,good,

I am faithful toebb and flow,

I fallin season and nowis a time of ripening.

If her partis to be true,a north star,good,

I hold steadyin the black skyand vanish by day,yet burn therein blue or abovequilts of cloud.

There is no savormore sweet, more saltthan to be glad to bewhat, woman,and who, myself,

I am, a shadowthat grows longer as the sunmoves, drawn outon a thread of wonder.

If I bear burdensthey begin to be rememberedas gifts, goods, a basketof bread that hurtsmy shoulders but closes mein fragrance.

I caneat as I go.