Summer

To Sarah, Darrell, Jason, Justin, and Jonny

It's here when the garden

by the doorstep is again

impatien-perfect and the primrose,

sun-colored, has petaled out.

When the robins resettle in

the yew, and orioles, thrushes

busy the morning with song, it's

here. When the web, dew-pearled,

is respun under the eaves and monarchs

dazzle the new-mown lawn and

your laughter sings over

the field like embers

soothing a long chill, I know,

at last it's here.