A Summer Gambol

Say, the summer’s coming through our window,
Flickering through our window
With a summer rain that stands in drains,
That runs in rivers by the curb,
But can’t disturb the children in the yard
Until it falls the harder and they run away.
The echoes of their play, like rivulets,
Trickle through the mist of early evening.

Say, the summer’s breaking overhead.
It frolics on your face and in your bed,
Like sun playing on your eyes,
Like little winds skipping through the door,
Like screens that tease persistent flies,
Or leaves of doubtful patterns on the floor.
The mornings turn to dusty days
With evening music of the streets.

Say, the summer beats in our chests,
Fills our veins with searching,
Pours like beer from our laughter,
Rocks with drums in the street.
The summer trips over us like a cursing giddy old man.
And we are clowns who cry when we can,
But take his hand now
And laughing, run with it.

Autumn Simply Ends

Autumn simply ends
where the sun winking
through shrinking trees
trills the flute of a brook,
laying a lyric
with the lute of the breeze.

An echo lingers,
the song smoldering
like fire wet with wine
where branches blushed
to hear the ringing voices…
yours and mine.

Shadows fondling your hair,
fearing the moon,
hide in your eager light
till your song ends simply,
fast as a lover’s flight,
soft as a peacock’s cry
cursing a winter night.

The Butterfly Farm

seeing the butterflies
around the corners of your sight
knowing their Latin names
genders
sex lives
life cycles
life spans
host shrubs
contributions to pollination

but now you sit
watching their ethereal flight
patterns
forms
delicacy
such fancy of color and light
savoring the delight
hearing songs in their wings
stillness in their glide
trajectories of spirit
destiny of sun and flowers

and what of we higher powers
if we could transpire
their freedom to move
to then know the touch of love
the immensity of love

My Mother’s Voice

Today I heard my mother’s voice
In the murmuring of doves.
Was it a warning or a caress…
An imagined touch of love…
Lighter than sunlight
Invisible as memory?

My mother is one with the earth,
The clouds, and the birds.

I see the pigeons
In their silent rooftop vigil
Watching me as a mother might.
And as the birds take flight
My spirit dances on their wings
And in the sunlight.