The breeze carries the soft taste of honeysuckle to my lips
Ahead of the thunderous shutter and crackle of warring winds
This summer’s Sunday afternoon.
The observer contemplates the city’s triste,
Between nature’s choir of restless leaves and chickadees that bend
In the urban kaleidoscope of mechanical tunes.
The sky opens and beats relentless upon the pavement
The rains; aromas of man and earth undone,
Washed clean the scents
Severed suddenly by the unbridled sun.
Everything as before;
And the honeysuckle returns once more.
