where the Blackbird’s beguiling flute

stirs the heavy scent that lingers

across the trance of summer’s eve.

April has lain a fragrant quilt

over the moss that clothes

the limbs and secret belly

of the darkening wood.

Nodes of eager bracken thicken, uncurl

and thrust through cobalt covers.  

Subversive tubers reach into damp hollows

that reek with the sex of garlic.

An owl hoots!  Leaves burst free from swollen buds    

Then the dark roebuck, his mission complete,

withdraws silently across the blue shades

while verdant canopies stretch out to hide his shame.

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