Summer Comes Slow This Year

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, send their resin scent.

Endless sea breath,
holds their perfume tells,
rent from futile needled clutches,
salt and bay and juniper, as well.

Yes, I see them cling there
their roots up on that edge
edge of grove
or edge of sea

Ledges peeled to granite bone,
My path today, not quite,
not quite land and not quite sea
with forest fringe and seaweed cloak

Summer comes slow this year,
the season when heaven
just touches
just touches, just brushes by the earth.

Dahlias and apple trees
Salt, sand and sea breeze,
I’d have wished he could
have just one more, just one.

Strange, near a century of summers
a century, he’s been walking here
enjoying, seeing, hearing here
scenting saltpinebay and juniper

Smells of land near sea
Today, a deep sea whiff is snagged
belched by waves, rolling big,
from far.

Summer comes slow this year,
seems reluctant this year,
waiting
walking slower than years passed.

Or maybe, she came early,
for just a day,
touched down lightly
and took my friend away.

I lost my friend this week.
My friend, my friend
a friend of many days
I 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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