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Should I Ever Pass This Way Again
By William T. Blackburn
Under shade of seckel pear tree, juices on my lips
Sun slipping between leaves, breeze disheveled
As songbird wings, flapping, slapping metronome
Green sheaves unfurled in springtime, scrollwork
A record of this season writ
In summer’s youth
Meadow cat peacock strutting, saunters slyly by
To the deep fields, amid folds of earth hunting
Little mousey morsels upon grain seed fed plump
This microcosm of the universe unfolding cycle
The way all things wander
Among summer’s stars
Stage right: graveyard headstones in dark granite
By decades, sun faded, wind and rain exfoliated
Grandad’s gift: shorter walks each Sunday service
Along the border in restive sleep his final home
Visitations every weekend
At summer’s dusk
With uncles, carried there a casket heavy laden
Inter in that sacred soil Grandma’s tiny frame
Mark down another name for those who remember
Bringing flowers as each year rolls slowly by
In my mind alone now
With summer’s passage
Our old farm, left to suburb subdivision lanes
The honeysuckle and sassafras stripped away
A creeping sadness overshadows: memory born
I cannot walk among orchard trees cut down
Laid to rest on hearths
After summer’s gone
My time slipping steady now, years strolling by
Busied surely daily diatribes and pantomimes
In my suburbia trapped as rat in cage on bookshelf
Admired and derided in equal measures panned
Join that happy host
When summer’s passed
Seasons seem to meld year after year progression
Succession in demi-regular heartbeats sounding
This round-trip visitation: a meeting with oneself
For in my own time, my own mind, a universe found
Alone within this grace
As summer’s depth

William T. Blackburn struggles still to find his car keys. He holds a degree in English: Writing/Teaching and Music Composition. His work appears in numerous digital and print publications. He contributed to Adirondack Center for Writing: PoemVillage 2019-21 & Response II. He is an Ageless Authors judge 2020 and Pushcart Prize nominee.