Light stays longer now, and again
I prop myself in the lawn chair
to keep an eye on my children
who rush each other with dandelions
or play horseshoes or just dance
like apparitions under a sun
ready to plunge behind the mountains.
But at the moment it washes us all
with such gold we seem transfigured,
Near the crab apple, exploding with white
blossoms that smell like forgiveness
and flare with the glow of beautiful wives,
seven tulips rise so extravagantly
I almost suspect I am not in our yard,
but some holy place or maybe a story book
with lush, magical illustrations.
The red tips strain toward the sky,
burst with new ruddy leaves,
tender as the cheeks of my girls.
I could have prayed for a moment like this.
I could have waited ten thousand years.
But here it is, no begging.
Wind whisks a white petal from our tree;
it flutters and spins in the air, falls.
And to think, one day I will remember this.