Pulling out an oldie.



Sweet Nothings

It’s in the lengthening of the day,
the bright, gentle sky staying
a minute longer.

The cold quietude,
slowly and
quietly
interrupted.

The warmth and the hickories and the old
massive oak trees, turning in the breeze,
turning green for the springtime.
The crickets calling,
the summer melancholy.

The small clearing
in the woods and tall grass
by the beach house.
A clothesline, forgotten there,
ancient, maybe.

The soft grass, the tree limbs
bowing, back there.
Dandelions, there, and spider webs.