Song-Light

Song-Light

    after Mary Oliver

I listen for “the almost unhearable sound
of the roses singing” and sense the almost
unfeelable silk of the leaves greening.
Apple blossoms frisk as light shifts,
brightens – lingers.
Blank, gray days forgotten
except for the slight bite of morning’s breeze,
hope tinkling in the chimes.

My neighbor waves, dazed
after another night at his mother’s bed,
visible darkness drifting behind his eyes.
The restless wind whispers courage. 

Up and down the street, dogs greet joggers
in a raucous crescendo that stutters to a stop.
Robins dimple the yard for worms, and the wren
– the plain brown wren – pipes and trills
until my very skin vibrates, sighs with the sun.
Last season crumbles, swept away by the almost
           all around me.