IN THE ABBY GROVE

In the slender sunshine
My Aspen grove shimmers and shivers
With a sudden spume
Of tiny tatted lace
Blithe as a baby’s breath
Against the milky bones of boughs
An effervesce of exquisite edging
Citrine, celadon, chrysoprase, chartreuse
Greens so delicate they are almost sunlight

After millions of turnings, cycles of circles
Spring still comes with an indrawn breath
A enchanted, brief
Fragile
Surprise


©Edwina Peterson Cross