by Emily Cavin
I saw your face last night
Or should I say, this morning?
For it was several hours after midnight,
The mile marker pushing
Yesterday behind today.
I caught sight of you sailing low in the trees,
Now in full leaf to announce the imminent arrival of Summer.
I only glimpsed the liquid, pale, light
that just a short month ago,
Filled me and floated into every corner of the darkness
Guiding me out of my own black spaces
With the vision of a path that would know me when I found it,
The direction always clear.
And it is true –
I have begun to find my steps on that road
Since last you soared, full and indisputable
Washing the whole world silver.
With the sweetening of the season well begun
And the bright blooming of all the beings in the garden
You sink toward the hills
And I have to seek you out,
Just as I begin to waver,
To wonder what signs can be trusted to keep me on the journey.
The land and all the creatures in it
Reel from a week of unfathomable weather
Soaring from super-heated hail storms and spinning tornadoes
To crash into days and nights of relentless rain
And temperatures that struggle in vain to grasp the forty-degree mark,
Dooming picnics and bonfires and celebrations
Throughout New England,
And finally crushing the Adirondacks with over two feet
Of damning late May snow.
Watching you slip behind the darkened branches
I called silently
In the hope, the dream-like promise
That you would return some night
Perhaps months from now
When Summer signals that her glow is almost spent
And we worry for our winter readiness
Then might you come back to me
Saying, yet again,
“You are not lost.
Keep true to my light
No matter how it may appear to wander
And you will always know the way.”
Copyright by Emily Cavin 28 May 2013