I want the light of this day
to filter through the months ahead,
so that my senses will be tricked
into perceiving gold on hedges, and leaves
unfurling miniature maps of unknown worlds.
I want to store such brightness
so that if winter strikes with barbs of ice and white
I am reassured, recalling this day
and before that,
how purple iris speared the sun
while clematis wound its stars around a tree.
On the dreariest day I will magic this light;
September gold will have a tenacious grip
on all my thoughts, on what was, what is,
what is still to come.
In rain, sleet and frost, when my small
seems too cold for me to venture out,
my cocooned self
will ignore the landscape’s desolation, know
that monochrome earth
is merely a backdrop for reminders.