Of red above the green and lemon stalks,
And then the sunlight spirits him away.
He’s come, like us, to spend an afternoon

With daisies, butterflies, bull thistle spikes,
And lose his body in forgotten grass.
No talk when wading through this inland sea,

No need to name the milkweed, Queen Anne’s lace,
No need to speak of lilies springing out
Like tigers from the track we roughly make

And unmake as we wander through the day,
No need to call the thorny locust out
Or tempt it with a fingertip. No need.

Words without eyelids come and look around
From in our heads and from those songs we love,
As afternoon grows sweet: air, cloud, and sky,

And then all settle down to flourish here,
Where grasses, trees and rocks step out of time
And leave us free to live inside the sun

That whispers, ‘Come, rest in my golden breath,’
And half-imagine that we all can stretch
Ourselves like this throughout the years to come.

Some bumblebees dance round the bergamot.
My son is hidden in the thick long grass:
Not even the circling crow can see him now.