Variations on Sappho’s Fragment 5 (By the Garden of Nymphs)

By Micah Towery 

Where cold streams sigh 
and lift the easy limbs of apple trees, 
sleep settles on you from the foliage just above.
*

Chilled water stirs the air.
The limbs of apples rise and fall, 
the drift of leaves.
* 

A chilly murmur winds 
through a copse of apple-wood
to you, quivering in your sleep.