TREASURE
Like a miser
This summer day keeps the sun
until piles of gold lie in the garden,
spent at last on windows, flowers
and a lady bug crawling ambitiously
up a ribbon of ivy.
And in this last possession of time,
in this antiquity of light,
just before the sky
puts on her evening attire
amid the dark luxury of trees
and sequin stars,
over a red Japanese maple
hovers a humming bird,
like a tiny apostrophe,
and today belongs
to that immense plunder
of all days gone by,
kept secret and deep
in the universal heart.
JB
