from dust of dead leaves
and tangled
weeds, irises rise
at dusk, the corners
of the field
collapse into gnats
the last night of spring—
the long light
still ringing the air
low narcotic hum
as night draws
the last light through pines
the wordlessness we
slip into
is the poetry
the city’s steam plumes
drift against
the grain of traffic
even empty lots
levitate
in soft orange dusk
in bewilderment
poetry
becomes the compass
two in the morning
sifting through
the dark for a word
the forsythias
remind us
this dream is lucid
June 2022
Easthampton, MA
and NYC
“Collapse into gnats”
Damn!
These are wonderful. I have been hyper-sensitive around this recent transition from spring into summer -- the month of June this year in Easthampton has been spectacular & wishing, silly me, that it could go on forever . . .