we are pulled pell-mell
into the dreamtime
a wide field
of gold-eyed grasses
the moon reflected
in mullioned windows
old music throbbing
Audrey Hepburn dead in Switzerland
her husbands and lovers gather
she was young when we were
caged parrots exclaim loudly
blue roofs
under a cobalt sky
full of exploding planets
the cuckoo sings
calling in a voice unchanged
from the depths of the night river
and where is Gloria Grahame?
even her biography
gone from the shelves
zephyr lily beach wormwood
and rose campion
bloom in an old city
who will think of us when we too
are women of long ago?