Perfection

June evening 2 2013

I don’t believe
in perfection-
the tiniest petal
still retains a flaw-
a fissure,
a blemish,
the tracks of sun and rain.
Its heart
longing for completeness,
a closure,
a fullness
of perfect simplicity.

The meadow in late spring
filled with bright white daisies,
lavender sweet peas
pale pink honeysuckle-
a confluence of imperfect
perfection.

The End of May

May morning

The months spilled, rushing down to summer
with the rain,
last falling in the dark morning,
now the clear blue of a perfect afternoon sky

How can it be that things end without thought,
just tossed as carelessly
as petals in the warm breeze?

Will you remember this May?
The May of thunder and consequences
when all that could have been
was carelessly left to wash away
in the cold night rain.

The sun is shining now
and June is already here,
just waiting in the edge of the wood,
tiptoeing across the runoff
of the hard May rains.

sheltered from the storm

fall storm

a poem in two forms

sheltered from the storm, I wait for the clouds to part to hear the call of the river and the running of the creeks restored, responding to the freedom of springs warmth and winters end, I splash and swim in the clear waters of may.

sheltered from the storm, I wait for the clouds to part to feel the rush of the warm wind scenting the spring air with the salty sweet smell of the oceans and the perfume of sweetgrass lingering in the breeze as I run barefooted in the bright green grass of may.

sheltered from the storm, I wait for the clouds to part to taste the first sunlight of golden dawn gesturing with her open arms across the illuminated ridgetop warming the deep green ferny hollows, I dance in the first true day of spring.

***
sheltered from the storm,
I wait for the clouds to part
to hear the call of the river
and the running of the creeks
restored,
responding
to the freedom
of springs warmth and winters end,
I splash
and swim in the clear waters of may.

sheltered from the storm,
I wait for the clouds to part
to feel the rush of the warm wind
scenting the spring air
with the salty sweet smell
of the oceans
and the perfume
of sweetgrass lingering
in the breeze
as I run
barefooted in the bright green grass of may.

sheltered from the storm,
I wait for the clouds to part
to taste the first sunlight
of golden dawn
gesturing with her open arms
across the illuminated ridgetop
warming the deep
green
ferny hollows,
I dance
in the first true day of spring.

Morning in Late May

Sweet peas
soft dawn slowly seeps along the window sill-
spilling across the bedroom floor-
filling the house with warm morningness
***
early morning breeze drifts across the waking day-
filled with the scent of sweetpea and iris –
basking in the perfume of late May
***
singing heard from the treetops-
wake wake wake-
the day awaits