May
May 27, 2013 48 Comments
Again the blossom
foams along the fence
and sparrows in the eaves
chatter, bright-eyed
against the skim of blue.
And while you sleep,
turning as the Earth turns,
rotating in an eye-blink, a petal falls
like a longed for touch of breath
brushing by your cheek.
The garden seems crowded
now, cluttered with sunlight,
a smudge of purple, wings
and trees, a ripple
on the surface of the pond.
And you know this colour well,
the way the light
falls across the water,
how it leaves you breathless
and asks you what you’re waiting for.
©2013 Louise Hastings



















