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I normally keep my descriptions of poems brief, mostly because I like readers to experience my work without distracting commentary, but this poem has an interesting backstory.
We were on our way home from Oregon in August of last year. We stopped at a rest stop in the middle of the beautiful Oregon wilderness, and walked down to the river tucked away in the wood. As we were walking back, I had a vivid atmospheric impression. I imagined a figure like the one described in the poem standing in that dry, sparse, golden wood. I often get inspiration from unusual surroundings that become a 'feeling' or 'atmospheric' poem for me, rather than an ideological thrust or moral that I include in many of my poems.
I scribbled a rough draft on the long car ride home, and revised it months later. Now I get to share it with you!
Gypsy Girl
The woods were cool and still
Unlike my roving mind
And weak and wavering will
And where the fog had barely cleared
Without a single sound
The child appeared
A dry eyed, red lipped stare
With slightly sallow cheeks
And darkly tumbled hair
If she would kiss my cheek, my fear
Though she another dream
My skin would sear