Decades before I knew to name poetica - or myself poet - I swooned countless hours in birch shade steeped in perfumed sweetness from modest blooms arced over me - moss-cushioned, prone - acquiescing to slight breeze as, it seemed, to me their dizzying scent wafting the young air of spring transports me back to childhood, an ease I now know to name swb 5.23
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
toward sights, senses in tow
for the filling and tasting that awaits
our eagerness, anticipations
grateful and gratified
at every turn.
swb
9-30-12
sarahscapes 