photo by swb
Decades before
I knew
to name poetica -
or myself poet -
I swooned
countless hours
in birch shade

in perfumed sweetness
from modest blooms
arced over me -
moss-cushioned, prone -
to slight breeze
as, it seemed, 
to me

their dizzying scent
the young air of spring
transports me back
to childhood,  
an ease
I now know
to name

swb 5.23

tumble of matins

Savonarola's preaching attracted huge crowds t...

Sunday morning’s tumble of matins
churning in a circular waterfall
of celebration, an invitation
to enter the day’s flow whispered

from passing cars to the muffled
bark, hushed tones of Sunday
a tentative kiss, an open welcome
to explore Florence in slow time

a gentle waltz of sound turning
‘round the town, the smooth
warmth of coffee urging us
sights, senses in tow

for the filling and tasting that awaits
our eagerness, anticipations
grateful and gratified
at every turn.