Sonnet for a Peach.

The leaves a gentle yellow, dappled still
With green; the evening a deep’ning blue,
With dizzy silver faces peeking through
All thrumming drunk on sunset’s rosy thrill.

Each brush of night exceeding daylight’s skill,
Dull beams yet catch this undiminished hue:
The peaches’ dusky blush does shade eschew,
And soaks instead what August overfills.

Like lover’s hand, familiar, the palm
Enfolds that tender sphere: that fragrant skin,
Those juices sweet! The heady taste of calm:
To sunlight caught in curtain folds akin,
To reverent draw of breath when singing psalms —
Abundant peace: all summer revels in.

Soft Beginning

Yellow leaves in November breezes,
Twirling along the first snowfall of winter:
If only for an evening, if only for an hour
You’ll walk alongside the visible tread of time.

There is a beginning glimmering
In the end of fertile seasons;
There is a softness spreading
In veins of ice, like open palms
Covering familiar ponds:
Their ripples stilled at slightest touch.

Swirled at the bottom, in the dregs of the year,
Landed lightly on frozen earth
Despite the V of fleeing birds:
A soft beginning.

And it reaches you in humble ways,
Like tentative wind through tiny holes in knit sweaters
Like the faintest memory of childhood houses:
You’ll see the lights all over again
Hung in half forgotten windows
Framing the refrain
Of your mother’s favourite Christmas song
And the simple words you used to write:
In windows and fog of your innocent breath,
Disappearing when daylight came again.

In all that’s past
And all that’s ended
A soft beginning, mingling.