Summer Comes Slow This Year For Bev Bevilacqua
Thick coastal grove of pine,limbs twisted, entwined.close kin branches, needles warp and weft,failing, sieve like, to hold their resin scent.
Endless sea breath, with her perfume tells,rent from futile needled clutches,salt and bay and juniper, as well.
Yes, I see them cling theretheir roots up on that edgeedge of groveor edge of sea
Ledges peeled to granite bone, My path today, not quite,not quite land and not quite seawith forest fringe and seaweed cloak
Summer comes slow this year,the season when heaven just touchesjust touches, just brushes by the earth.
Dahlias and apple treesSalt, sand and sea breeze,I’d have wished he could have just one more, just one.
Strange, near a century of summersa century, he’s been walking here enjoying, seeing, hearing herescenting saltpinebay and juniper
Smells of land near seaToday, a deep sea whiff is snaggedbelched by waves, rolling big, from far.
Summer comes slow this year,seems reluctant this year, waitingwalking slower than years passed. Or maybe, she came early,for just a day,touched down lightlyand took my friend away.
I lost my friend this week.My friend, my frienda friend of many daysI could wish he had just one,just one more just one more summer here, with us
But maybe, yes, perhaps,I’ll think she came and took him, early he’s with her one long summer by the sea.
He seemed happy, when he went.
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Painting is a joy, and, of course, my day to day work, but has also been a refuge.Chris Cart
Painting is a joy, and, of course, my day to day work, but has also been a refuge.