Jim C. Wilson
The Greens Of May
The greens of May shine brighter each new spring
and though I’ve seen it all before, the days
each year smell more and more of morning. Night
turns light; the blackbird is my call to rise,
his song in every room at dawn. The time
is right for stepping out into the sun.
There’s warmth once more and I again should run,
should dance, and would ‒but I am past my prime:
my limbs now creak and mist can dim my eyes.
How odd to see buds burst but feel the bite
of creeping frost. As autumn brings more haze,
the greens of May shine brighter each new spring.
fold soft water as it trickles down falls
no bigger than doorsteps
without doorway or path
catch stray rays from surface ripples
store in safe places
next to dandelion fronds
keep waves of water and waves of light
for empty days when sunshine is sparse
and gentle streams remain in the past