The leaf unfolds its glory and the tree
Once stark and bare is nature’s pride and joy
Its lap of shadow sprawls luxuriously
Where we pause, summer’s daydream to employ
As Cold Impossible relents at last
To air that wears our prayers warm, lilac-lined
And we are willing to forgive the past
Allowing love to be kinder and blind
For in this ‘almost-place’ we reconcile
The bitterness of longing for a while
The nearness of you becomes more than thought
And what was once a far-flung fantasy
Rouses within, echoes of what is not
And cannot be restored in poetry
Yet, Longing is too long and far too hard
To endure in this ‘almost summertime’
The tune of moment-song vexes the bard
His obligations torn twixt rose and rhyme
For Duty and desire wrangle where
Spring’s architecture draws and awes our stare
How swift the hour falls prey to yesterday
Nothing exhausts the wellspring of tick-tock
Eager to brush the bud of spring away
In petals scattered on the garden-walk
The invitation of an afternoon is sweet
And yet it seems too often we fore-go
Its beckoning to wander in bare feet
Where wild crab-apple blossoms fall like snow
Kissing the grass with blushing bits of pink
As ‘almost-summer’ teeters on Time’s brink
Are we too old to fall in love again?
This ‘almost summer’ keens thought’s appetite
In reasons complicated to explain
Like love, easy to fall, hard to get right
But ever like the burgeoning detail
Of miracles detained in budded hull
We reach to touch the ravishing regale
Of petal-works splayed where the ground was dull
But now, erupts in
reams of greens and golds
Where ‘almost summer’ bloom by bloom unfolds
© Janet Martin
