Tuesday, March 6, 2012


Periwinkles grew in the crease
between February and March.
Out here in this awkward place --
rustic acre of no formal flowers.

There is too much to put off doing
and too much to think about for hours
to make this yard over into a garden.
A wonderful garden remains possible.

So it is surprising and appreciated
when periwinkles gather in greenery
to celebrate with lavender an early sun.

They are a colorful contrast
to surrounding fallow fields,
morose stalks on the ditch bank,
and gray factories off to the west.

The periwinkle vinca crowds
around the abandoned planter –
an 8' x 8' area for ostensible roses
now overgrown with long sadness --
out in the endurance of my back yard.

The periwinkles are slowly dancing
on the new March wind in openness,
like faces of choristers about to sing.

Who knows why there is such color
coming all by itself into those faces?
And how did they appear in a crease
between the ticks of a silent clock,
beneath a winter sun's warming?

I don't understand this paradox
of hope blooming as I still grieve.


  1. This conveys a lot, Tim.

    Not just images, which are certainly there,
    but a feeling not easily conveyed any other way
    than in a poem as subtle as this one.

  2. Thank you kindly, Matt, for your depth of reading. Makes it all worthwhile.