In the woods a suggestive
wind the trees creak
like doors but opening
or closing ones I’m
unsure and the moss
the grass the ivy
shags that grace
the maple trunks
and sway are all
more green than
they have any right
to be and buds appear
on saplings like tongues
that won’t be held
and this light rain
gets caught in wind
and sun and rises
blown like sparks
the sun on the wet
asphalt white as
heat and this is
no known season
this is something
beyond it’s all
in play even the staid
saucer faces of
the pink camilla
have shown up
early just to gawk