while you focus
on the sun—
and others, from
the sound of it,
on the revving
of their engines—
those tight faces
at the ends
of the lilac bush branches
remain blank
and unresponsive
to the chorus
of birdsong at dusk
and dawn
and the quickening
green of the adjacent
park lawn.
But of course,
one morning, those grimaces
will loosen
and redeem their cached
sweetness
in busts of fragrant glee—
and you'll think how,
in the grand scheme,
it only takes a blink
for everything
to happen—
but an awfully long
and lonely time
for anything
to mean.
