Scenes from Woodward Park

I.

Bare-breasted summer fowl

Burnt red and yellow face

Their light etched; photograph

A bushy tail gives chase

Such primitive posture

Testing each solemn blade

Yet to greet Apollo

Along his skyward race

II.

Legato, longing fingers

Listless between the breeze

Summer’s colors; lacrimosa

Of green not yet to please

Winter encrusted coats

Delight; rambling blades

Tumble ‘twixt fair knolls

Of naked, crinkled shades

III.

Thump! Thump! His red hair bumps!

Beneath a knotty swell

Tapping! Dancing! Sublimely fancy!

His echo setting sail

A chirp! Alert! New neighbor, look!

Your cousin fin’lly moved

Across! Across! Sir Robin, I knock!

Shall I pour this tea for two?

IV.

My darling, Pine, I trace your spine

Caressing bark and wood

Seeing your knots exposed and taut

Would I be so, if stood –

I to face each weather and change

That god thought to season

Were to leave; to shade; reprieve

My love, I’d lose all reason

V

I see you, child, your skin of ebony

Wading endlessly amongst the shallows

Oblivious you seem to our presence

While you tend the koi and orphaned fallow

Your exotics’ fragrance delight the night

While tanninful grapes enrapture, incense

Lovers to fall for agéd illusions

Where your garden, your Eden, has gone thence

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