It’s out again,
dripping in honeyed falls
and sweet with honey bees.
Flowing like time down sun-warmed
brick,
prodigal with hope,
it twists and turns in Georgian
elegance.
The thick, still fragrance
climbs and clings about my heart,
gathers my eyes and rings my ears;
lingers at my feet.
Each falling spray is gently
dressed
in palest lilac, quiet mauve,
in old-world modesty,
half-mourning shades
as delicate as dreams passing...
It’s out again;
I must go out...
(May,
1988)
