
This poem is from Heredities (2010).
The Lady of Guadalupe’s Dream and Jade Ruin
And she said: Does darkness list our erasures and become beautiful?
And she said: This I love, I translate into advent and wild foxgrape,
the blind staggers of water.
And then she said: The dead will return, narrow gates unlatched.
To which she replied: His body is air written between my hands.
Which is when she carved an arrow upon linden, leaf & chaff.
Which is when the butterflies hatched from her footprint.
Which was how she cut her fingers with seaweed and bitter jewel.
Which was when our martye became the hour of unsung reeds.
- “The Boundless Deep”: Richard Holmes on the Young Tennyson - June 18, 2026
- Poets and Poems: Fanny Howe and “This Poor Book” - June 16, 2026
- The Overseas Trip Where Language Didn’t Matter - June 11, 2026

Maureen Doallas says
I have this collection. I find I have to read it slowly, and not straight-through. It can be enormously rewarding.