Love in Four Seasons
by Gideon Burton
She whispered moistened trellises of breath
Against the skin of expectation. Seas
And currents, washing oceans may caress
The rounding pebbles into sand to please
the eons. But to me the petals wet
And white confess her touching them, enough
To lend her fingers pollen and regret
Perhaps–perhaps the taste of winter’s rough
Persuasions dormant in the thickened rain.
She reconciled the atmosphere’s delay
To ready poultices of music, strange
And supple on the spreading bruise of day
She spoke to me in words, in water, all
The seasons: summer yielding well to fall.