I have my evenings

 

A sketchy evening, hastily made and fresh

 

with silky bird songs tangled through the air

 

four pink-edged apple blossoms puffed out

 

on the bough because a warm week fooled

 

them into spring.

 

I think the evening maker likes this

 

one, delays the disappearance, slows

 

the tide, keeps

 

the bright air stirred. If we were new

 

here we could wonder what comes next.

 

Love, I have evenings. I have evenings, and I

 

††††††† donít

 

know myself how to untangle the songs.