Berries of the Morning

In the evening

when dusk and dust conspire 

and time seeks revision… 

a memory reaches out

like a distant sun 

rising from a distant sea... 

I am seduced by one last longing

Days tumble backwards

back through the turning leaves 

to stand in simple dirt again

in meadows of summer

bursting with the warm swarm of buzzing bees 

and the Low Moo of cows 

All the world entwined in 

the rapture of wild-flowers

Rippling young and open,

you and I would wander with deep buckets, 

gathering berries of the morning

drinking from swollen vineyards

and the cobalt music of sky

all around…the scents and sounds of growing

And when we’ve ripened in the turning suns

through these foreshadowed years,

I hope that Hope still quickens 

in the Autumn heart 

to walk those gladdened days again

wandering the Summer Hills 

forever calling out across the deathless valleys

These echoes of you and me