honeysuckle

green and blue
vista,
a spring-drenched
waterfall
rushing toward me
the golden-white clouds
bowing ahead

 

and I run

 

sidewalk moving
under my feet
breath flowing
in and out
steady sky
coming toward me

 

evening’s light
glowing like gold
through the clear waters
of a creek
inviting me onward

 

and then
the pale-lipped
honeysuckle—
suddenly, and early
in the season—
comes upon me

 

its fragrance
catching me off guard
and I gulp forward
seeking the scent pockets
in the folds of the erratic wind
its wall of white ruffles
bounce softly
alongside me
for a brief moment

 

the blue sky
moving toward me
steady, steady

 

the flowered path
now behind

 

and half a mile later I realize
my feet have fallen
into the rhythm
of that afternoon’s
violin concertos,
Vivaldi and Corelli
running together in my head

 

honeysuckle
still present in my
memory
and senses

 

the yellow-flecked
green and blue horizon
coming toward me

 

and I run

 

 

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