Nicole: July 28
by Ron Smith


Madrona, arbutus, demonic tree
sheds leaves and bark through summer;
the scent of October ripens the air.
Childhood you cannot abandon so easily.
You navigate the seasons, as if dancing
at the helm of things were heaven's will.
The way of stone encircles our hearts. 

We open our eyes to the music of memory,
legends sung by wind; songs composed in our throats.
You took your first steps as if they recorded
your name in the radiant moments of morning.
Now you rush toward me, your delicate mouth
filled with apple; as we embrace
you laugh and sing: "There, that's an apple kiss."


from Seasonal by Ron Smith 
Sono Nis Press
Victoria, British Columbia, Canada