does anyone else remember
lilacs on warm spring afternoons
filled with the scent of purple blooms
and the sweet sip of their nectar
does anyone else remember
lilacs on warm spring afternoons
filled with the scent of purple blooms
and the sweet sip of their nectar
I swear the river breathes deep just
before it rolls over the dam
for I can see its exhaled breath
lingering in the air
sometimes we can read history
in the land such as how a row
of sycamores mark the outline
for an old corduroy road
May’s new leaves on short tethered stems
don’t blow in canopied rows like
their summertime selves but flicker
and quake in the cold breezy light
I wish I were standing wind blown
shoes in one hand toes buried deep
lost in that distance of cool blue
sky and soft grey sea
have you noticed how the lowest
notes drawn from a cello always
soothe a worried soul just the same
as ocean waves against a shore
my Lab Mackie hates the meter
reader each month that vile scheming
electric checker trespasses
wearing postal blue
it’s May but the weather blows straight
from cold spiteful March provoking
the crabapple trees to mutter
harsh words to the wind
I watched a man in a mart halt
his cart transformed by memory
or anticipation purchase five
super soaker blasters
clouds rolled through this morning dirty
gray and smokey blue all rushing
overhead heavy and yet light—
light stabbed a building white