The other lilac

We’re pretty pleased in mid-May by our lilacs:
the one is mauve, the other gentle red;
and both of them have grown and put forth blossoms
and sweet perfume we savor from our bed.

And next block east an apple tree is blooming
a gorgeous pink that augurs well for fall:
and everywhere the gardens are reacting
to sun and showers and urgings from us all.

But yesterday while walking in this splendor
I saw a tree that made it all look pale:
a lilac in full bloom that was filling all the room
in a garden yard that wore it like a veil;

Its single trunk a sturdy ancient carving
a twisted marvel, green and purple royal:
lovely, ancient, breathing sweetness on the street
like a kitchen baking riches, from the soil.

And so the reach of time our lilacs’ stature
paints more sweet Mays in others’ floral future.

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intersection

In the twenty-four seconds
it takes for the red to green
chemical exhaust wafts subtly
over the pavement and sidewalks
invades the neighborhood
explores yards and gardens and lungs
settles in to work its mayhem
a gift from waiting motorists
who also entertain window glass
with the resounding bass thump
of their offerings to the stratosphere.

Perhaps we should reciprocate
with similar garbage and defecation
heap our effuse on their heads
stuff their lungs with poison
fill their chassis with fearsome silence
and the promise of more to come.

Once I charged a car that sped
down our child-speckled street:
I slammed my palms against the side
hard enough to startle and sway the car
as I was no small hunter facing elephants
but a giant scaring mice
which fled never to return.

One could do worse than take a stand.

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fiery braille

The first flower
to survive
more than a moment
on i95

was surprised:
generations had tried
but all before
had sadly died

squished by commerce
and frivolous trips
taken while gasoline
came on ships.

Now the petals
and their genera
will be here
for long millennia

til the rest of us
learn to bleed
signs from the flowers
for the blind to read.

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