Wisteria unannounced
And for a quiet moment
Bleeds from the trees delicate
And lovelier than the night which produced it.
But when you return perhaps a week later
to have of her again
She is no more
And won’t be
Until some unknowable day next year.
My unknowable day is unknown to me
But I think
It is not this
And will be
Like the wisteria hour
The most beautiful thing
For one breath only.
