A glance

The brief yellow tang of sorrel
peppers the thick grass, now
ankle-high between spring storms
and growing.

It’s been ten years since I
threaded bare toes between
deep green blades
cooled my feet on summer’s carpet.
Ten years of thorny sand at my door
scoured ground oven-hot
and unyielding.

In the desert, the sun’s shout
echoes down then up
hits hard ground
richocets back
to hard sky
reverberates like plucked steel
or a beaten drum.

Here, that same sun
falls only a little farther
collapses into a green net of
layered leaf and vine
loses velocity
thins out like weak warm tea
and at last settles gently
onto my skin, kiss-damp
and reaching into a
soft breeze.

Tree and bud stretch in
its easy embrace
unfurl motley banners
audacious in their
delight at the season.

With her blooms off, the
sorrel will blend into the roadside
a weed among weeds
another patch of the same shade of green.
But today she calls out
from a thousand lemony throats
beckons my gaze
and the sun’s
down
asks us to look on
her looking back
with summer’s eyes.