Bit late with this, considering it's the eve of June. But the feeling
came over me, and. . .you know. . .

 

May jump-started June, but gave cool evening
that pulled me outside.   Human nature
came up with excuses. Oh, I just went out
to trowel against weeds
believe they are stubborn as I.
Equally drunk on ego and dregs
of pink sun, told myself I could rescue
sleeping morning glories
until a breeze more gentle than human
caressed our bowing heads 
high.  Taking its hand, we skipped
into growing dark. The moment
we wait for, the moment
so sweet, we pray it will let go,
dresses in silk, then warms itself
liike a baby’s bottle. One sip,
we are helpless. Take us,
we mew. Wake us or lull us
with the story you and only you
can tell. Want bloom, give you bloom.
Want dark, here’s our nightlight.
Unless we get the urge to run.
Why we would choose to risk
seasons’ moods, don’t know.
Cold and thunder scare us, it’s true .
But the womb that bore us lived
in this state. Home home, we guess.
Staggering through moonlighted grass,
I went inside. Five minutes passed
before I staggered back.

 

 

(c) Phyllis Jean Green