There come some days here, nearly every May,
when dirt and branch infect me with surprise.
I felt it first this year on Saturday,
as if a balm applied to soothe my eyes
became effective at the stroke of one.
Surrounded by the cleansing sweep of green
from trees and vines and bushes, lit with sun
and shadow-flirting – satin, velveteen
and rayon spangles blue and yellow made –
removed me from a selfish reverie.
I woke up dull but verdure so displayed
infiltrated and redirected me.
From morning teetering, on edge of pout,
the local landscape hued my sight about.