Through the tall, young trees
the trim green-grassed hill
slopes sharply up from rich blue water:
Later, across the parking lot
a similar rise: long-drawn trunks
whose bushy heads betray the
gentle slopes of hills below.
On some suburban side street after work,
waiting to pick up Charlie from the sitter
a lawn-mowing man aerosolized
green onions in the grass:
The scent is heavy with promise
and pleasant with memory.
April 2015
