Nightshade’s Boon
The season’s beacon
Red blushes through verdant growth
Sweet summer harvest
–

–
drawn to the edge of specific gravity
from which liquid mystery
emanates exotic fragrance
known to call a man down
to the deep of depths
beyond the wilderness of loneliness
past the advance of caring –
lest you be drowned in desire
for want of love.
There! A flash of white
Not winter snow – autumnal delight
The white squirrel thrives, the albino’s luck holding
I watch in awe, joyed by its bounding flight
A knock overhead
Rain pounds a tin roof – divine
The very earth sighs
Chill steel, weathered wood
Tracks lead both north and southward
A whistle – distant
Frozen, wings beat fast
The hummingbird has returned
Tasting sweet flowers