Bittersweet

I love denouement, the bittersweet

poignancy of good partings,

swim-drenched skin drying in the sun

while hawks wheel thermals,

woodsmoke rising for a beer-hungry feast,

burnt offerings and libations

for the gods of summer, crushed

flowers decorating river paths,

honeysuckle heavy in the light air,

azaleas’ fuchsia blooms only memories gossiping about dogwoods and camellias,

who wore green on Sunday in April in the land of little yellow flags and new traffic routes, day lilies stirring the earth

while magnolias stretch white petals big as your hand around grenades to be thrown in children’s forts beneath waxy green leaves.

A sunset isn’t better than a kiss any more than a river is better than love or flying,

but I’ll watch and swim until I can soar

back into the clouds your lips have always been.