You are gone
Silhouetted farmhands glean the haycocks
Over divested fields
Skeletal limbs of craggy fruit trees
A coven, bewitched by early dusk
Forgotten fruit fallen away
Left to rot in the dirt
You are gone
Without pondering
Slate gray clouds
Dolmens of a winter sky
Grievous and unforgiving,
Through unprotected trees
I place freshly cut evergreen boughs
To blanket your grave
Last springs, I planted a peach tree there,
Yellow crocuses, snowdrops, small-budded roses
Each year delicate blossoms emerge
From the last patches of snow
Cover the hillock with scarlet and saffron blooms
An impressionist canvas,
White Hawthorne blossoms,
Un-petal offering to the Maiden of Spring
Yet, spring comes slowly now
Cold beads of rain
Overspill the herb pots
Cling to the needles of rosemary
Threadlike strawberry vines hang
Clutch the trellis like frightened children
How I long for those ripe berries
To relish luscious flavors
They fall away too soon