Rowans—not yet fully rowan red
not yet in that tone they take on later
of ember, berry, October, and death
Rowans—still a little green about the gills,
but see them bundled into a leggy bouquet,
making their sotto voce farewells:
maybe never again, chum, or just this once.
Rowans—this year and all the years,
first that queasy greenish-pink and then rowan red,
colored up, plumped, ripened, and offered to God—
but where was it you plumped, colored, and ripened?—
—Gottfried Benn, “Rowans,” translated from German by Michael Hofmann
Art Credit Jennifer Crouch
