Almanac of Days

Parapegma
Spinning through the almanac of days
I come across the first purple crocus of spring,
turn, catch sight of the gaudy marigolds of summer,
turn again and there are the flaming sugar maples of fall
and once more, glimpse the long-needled pines of winter.
Constellations, sunrises and sunsets, a profusion
of celestial events, intricately tangled in time,
past present future, in and out of focus, the obscure
dimension along which everything in the universe flows.
And it is my intention to find more time, time for us,
that hopelessly dull, ordinary, unremarkable us,
in this last season of our life together,
while the moon spins around corners in the brittle night sky
and the sun shines golden shafts of daylight; and the wind,
that wild, unpredictable prairie wind, uproots it all.