Summer comes luscious as amber and honey.
It flows up from willow roots, the rushes' dead stalks
a hum soft under sound to whisper the fields awake.
It floats within wind-rivers shaped from prairie grasses.
Borne upon bees' wings, the days are sweetened to fullness.
Suddenly, in the orchard the greenest suggestions new
leaves try the light, urging the trees' black branches.
No surprise, then, to see bees leave their hives. They'll linger
and linger along the white of pear blossoms: a white, perfumed,
that through the village goes, quick with warmth,
even down to the stilled, chill shadows of the forest.