I’m waiting for summer to start.

I want to see through emerald leaf
how the young sun rises,
how waking birds nod
to the familiar sky
and sing to life their bright day.

I’m curious.

When will the stoic snail finish
his pilgrimage
into the cool shade
of this airy fern?

And in blazing noon
tell me
if the fussing wren still
flits or throws back
feathered arms
behind downy head
to siesta.

But most I want to feel
the precise moment
when blushing sun
spills his red life
into the gentle arms
of his dark love, night.


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