Barefoot in the wet grass, I stare
at the scarred cherry tree
I almost put the chainsaw to, now in full leaf,
and the brick patio I laid down
with its café table, four chairs
and an unobstructed view of the sky.
How lucky I am the light finds me
here on this curve on Levans Road
where the sticky buds
of the peonies come unglued
to creamy white, and swallows glide
into the birdhouse swaying
on a pole above tomatoes and peppers.
How merciful that the mind forgets
for a while the pain
on the other side of the hedges,
intrigued as it is by the Brown Thrasher’s swiping
aside last year’s decaying leaves
to find underneath the fat grub.