This moment I would call perfection
hold it in my heart in the wink of a birdsong.

This translucence, this slippery gauze of summer.
A thing so fragile
the more I try to remember
the further you fall apart.

An evening in July
streaked with the silence
of heady profusion.
Grasses, flowers, trees
all join in the worship of the perfumed deity.

Somehow, a week later
as I sit at my window,
grey seeping and spiking the horizons
the magic eludes me