Suddenly, June 1, for no good reason,
the riverbank opens its heart; purple,
purplish, blue, whitish, common
currency from a country warmer than ours,
but cooler in its evenings and foothills.
My Great
Aunt Helen, though proper, used to be addicted
to lacrosse, and sat behind the penalty box
to scold opposing players sent off. Nothing
we ever did deserves
these weeds, which seed themselves
in places we have honoured with neglect.
One evening the dog comes home
freckled with petals of phlox, and for a moment
I imagine the wild wedding in the meadow
where his ample humour must have fit right in
with its numerous kisses and pranks.
~ from Night Field (McClelland & Stewart, 1992)
