The Amaranthine Poet

Scents of Ripe Sunlight

June 3, 2009 on 5:57 pm | In Everything | 3 Comments

Liquid stars
Are in the trees.
Grey first in haze of dawn,
Dull pink in spread
Of sunlight.
Perched on feeble boughs,
The paradisal glimmering of
Satin birds.
The roots of great trees filled
With the water
With the breath of
God.
Snow on milky sap
Swollen
Melt as tears.
And bark is devoured by
Rings about regnant trunks.

Bells of Riverside and
The hollow sounds of air
Turning in the pockets of the sky.
The distant arrival of trains
Horns bursting rusted pipes.
The weary chirping of birds and
The gentle pound of their wings
Against risen
Noon sighs.
The creak of
An unseen swing.
The drone of
An afternoon plane scratching
Against the ephemeral
Folds of clouds.

The ambiance of
Mountain rain
Sweet water cascading
Down the shimmering walls.
Red glow behind rocky veils
Bleed.

The weddings watched
In Fairmount Park
By vessels standing
Barefoot and
Grass-stained behind the iron
Gates
Below the yellow haze
Of a single
Flickering street lamp.

The rows of
The orange grove
Where the mirage of
A pink sky
Meets
The wet green trees and
The sun set fruit.
The honeybees and
The sugared citrus that
Sink in steps
Sweetening the rustled leaves and
Scents of ripe sunlight.

Jenna Awad