Golden Delicate
The tap I hammered
into this hole drilled in the sapwood
offers the first
tap
on the bottom of the pail,
a second tap, and all that follow,
dripping sap sounding the pail’s
hollow, a tapping that starts a season,
that stops me, hammer in hand
in the settling shadows, standing in the snow,
in the tapping, sap in the steel
spout, drops from the fluted tip
tapping the metal pail, tap
after tap, as if keys striking the bare
platen of the bucket, letter by letter
at eternity’s pace, news of the sap’s weather
and our brief harvest of sweet ascent.
by Bill Drislane
(published in Vermont Almanac Volume II, 2021)
Bill Drislane, a member of Sundog Poetry, lives in Jericho, Vermont. When he’s not digging in the garden or tapping trees, he writes and recites poetry, sings, and plays the fiddle.