these are hard times, permeated
with a kind of all pervading lassitude.
but clothed in morning mist, standing
on the balcony, i am connected to all
that lies before me--a wave of tender green

on a hillside overrun with day lilies;
a cloud of bloom on a pear tree like a painting
by a master impressionist flaunting
virtuosity--even the handful of dew
on the dandelion is a small masterpiece

and the tireless blue of the sky
above the haven i have created here
of little wealth and much beauty
and memories that climb a small hill
and melt into the skyline.

i know no other shape than this landscape
that contains me:   trees
staring at sharp-boned shadows
of themselves in the gem-fingered sunbeam;
the leaves, hushed and still, reverent,

peering up the skirts of the clouds;
fiercely optimistic spring light
clinging to my hands and hair;
magnolias soft with blossoms
moments

before they fall