The light in the eastern sky is a stone,
Its silver reflections diffused to sulfur red,
The summer haze thickened like an urban fog
As winds from Ohio kill our trees.
Flowers bloomed just one day --- in sixty-seven.
We'd heard about short seasons then.
Botanists speak of bitter fruit, sterile
Hybrids --- we ignored them easily.
Maturity startling the turtles,
Skinny-dipping in a WPA built pond,
Swimmers meeting waders in the twilight,
We kiss darkness, chase memories.
We play children in the dusk.
 

7/15/84

Index     The Bridge