wild
strawberries
the tiny fruit hidden in the hedgerows
that crush between my fingers and release
and release
the very scent of every summer in a lifetime of moons
of milk late grasses the creamy sap of dandelions
crushed around a tartan picnic rug of dozing
wind
falls
that apple tart the white tablecloths of evenings
as still as the breeze is easy upon the trees
that release
the honey dew as sweet and as sticky as every invitation
for rain on the morrow of the herbaceous borders
the flying-ant-dust paths and the drooping flowers
wait-
-ing
for the downward flies upon the water’s dust
on the slack pools where trout are on the take
bagged heavy to supper embers remembering
when released
the little ‘uns that arrowed up the barley stream
twisting the sunlight beyond redemption
beyond the wet returning steps of childhood
and here
we are
upon the azure curling smoke off mounds of burning leaves
or the warm white breath oozing from their turning
and the yearning ahead as summer pats her petticoats
blushing a little
spring and autumn look the other way
crinoline a garden spider’s web-caught-stitch glistens
as we ask are you crying
are you ~ oh please don’t
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