All Night I Harvest Your Name by Martin Willitts Jr.

All Night I Harvest Your Name

All night, the wind teaches the branches
how to write your name,
and a thousand eyes witness their writing
with soft river-sounds.

All night, sand grains murmur your name,
shifting each vowel,
trying out each sound, their smoothness
like the plush-velvet skies
as the night begins its aria.

Yes, all night, there is the dissembling
of ideas because I’m searching for you.

Although the world is vast and faceless,
and occasionally meteors streak across
blazing your name,
I can’t find you.

All night, all night, crickets brim
excitedly, repeating your name—

your name of serious translations, a name
purpling into nightfall, a wing-full of a name
into an uncommon wind.

I ask the great horned owl,
and he admits he doesn’t know who you are.

When the wind rushes your name
against my window, I open the blinds,
and I can see fire and water mixing together.

If I ignore your name,
your name might turn into foam, pull back
into the ocean of many names,
because whatever is freely given
can be taken back. All night, I worry about this.
All night, I write your name feverously in my heart.

I write your name in the shadows between rose petals.
I write your name into the green world
almost broken by possible loss.

by Martin Willitts Jr.

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Editor’s Note: Repetition, imagery, personification… these elements elevate this ode from mere verse to a truly beautiful love poem.