Celia Forno
Phantom Spring
The season of hushed flowers has come.
Earth blossoms quietly
beneath a crisp, oracle moon sky;
Seeds murmur into roots,
howl wet life to world.
Verdant rain breathes
its thick, moist song,
deep in the black river,
fish sleep sweetly.
Night insects listen as the ground stirs,
their faces small and sacred,
peering raptly into the dark.
They hear the edict.
Dawn nudges
open a sly black sky eye as
light spills
thick and honeyed,
extricating a furtive green
dandelion morning.
Only a few months ago,
the autumn forested mountain
shone its brilliant gold harvest;
Soon summer thunder
would journey above
oceans, as crabs shiver
like blue petals
in the cool, evening tides.
But now we are upon our only season.
The newly tendrilled
honey-suckle vines curious,
investigating a dusk;
fragrant and shrouded.
The sun melting a cobalt road
through cryptic,
lonely ice streams.
This will happen but once.
Come follow the wild path with me,
the dark blossom of a summer night
that may never come,
petals pressed closed,
like a silent mouth.
The dead whisper above us,
their eyes bright and ravenous like
newly hatched owls:
“Rise! Rise!”
“This is all you may ever have.”
Celia Forno writes: “I haven’t published anything. I’m a nurse practitioner and a gardener. I also do fiber arts. I love open water swimming, kayaking, and biking. I’m a native Floridian and love the natural world here, the swamps, the forests, the birds and reptiles.”
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