In Good Time

There yet?  With a happy return of night
Sky over China? The rice paper lanterns

Will regard that end painting and some
May have been viewed at the bridge-rail.

But first its brushed about with yellow
Pollen of a warped and muddy spring,

As might late night showers curve over
Onto the following day.  Lacquering rains

That fall flat off each side of the garage
And tone grass verdant with houselights

On well past noon, mélange pekoe jasmine
as an avidity of compounded infusion

Espoused from the kitchen tap. But mild
Lethargy is in a porcelain less hectic

And so intoned beneath the glare away
From hubcap hubris. The indifferent

Flight of nesting birds oddly akin.
Their nature not to stay (eventually).

Blank look in the eyes (if necessary).
Nests woven from yesterday’s scrap

Somehow capable to brew honest  flight
And move on over to adult conversation,

As backed without ever knowing a thing.
A movie’s rerun, yesterday’s shortcut,

The finished utopia, games of jump rope
To hopscotch about school and work.

Rudeness to the manual then after secret
Knowledge of what its really all about.

Pockets full of quietly befumbled sand
And plumb wine from brief sun colors

That hallow sycamores. Those pictures
Are available and can repeal memorable

Ends of some the other passing days but
Still precede in singular light thereafter--

Down from standing moon, planet, star a
Bloom in reflective vapor, stone and fire.