from Ancient Memories.
Why didn’t I see you
bright red spot,
perched now above
a field of silver-white,
in the summer?
Is it that you got lost
amid the gaudy splashes
of monarda, phlox
and coneflower?
Did the crimson
Mister Lincoln roses,
blushing over the garage
like a hundred rivals,
camouflage your
vivid red beacon
busy in summer’s work?
But now I see you
here on a brilliant,
cold, late January day
reminding me of spring
and things that can be.