The Beginning of Summer
Rain most afternoons now, and the azaleas
Over already--
A pink and lavender wreckage on the lawn
Like the aftermath
Of some grand celebration. The petals
Echo obscenely
Our pair of plastic pink flamingos
Held still on stilts
Bedside the birdbath, under the eaten cedar,
While new arrivals
Busy the feeder and thrash in the water:
Tufted titmouse,
Cardinal, jay, woodpecker, mourning dove.
They seem ghosted
As you are sometimes by the memory of Jane,
The dead white cat.
First sunset, then twilight, and now a few stars
Adrift in the pines.
All that can returns, as it must, for no reason
Except desire.
--Joe Bolton
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What a lovely weekend we're having--after weeks of fog and rain and snow--nature has been tricked into a false spring. It's just gorgeous.
2 comments:
Thanks for publishing this, Suzanne. Joe was a friend as well as a gorgeous poet--glad to know that he's still being remembered.
Pamela,
I adore him. My copy of The Last Nostalgia is well worn and much loved. (I read it straight through when I first bought it and return to it often.) It's so exciting to me that you were a friend of his, his work is so moving and truly beautiful. Thanks for stopping by.
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