May is summer not yet born,
even after fickle-mouthed winter
when spring has wound itself into bud and leaf
and time unbent its creaking rhythm
into the sky’s widening light.
© BH, 2025
A nod to spring and summer.
I was just completing a suite of month poems begun a long time ago in 1989 with a poem ‘October’. This is an excerpt from ‘May’.
The trees are real - just outside my house. The sky is also real but adjusted…
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