A Late Exhale

Cast upon a windless sea, broad and breakless,
the oak and ash, the evergreen, like landlocked masts
amidst the down dropped breeze, enduring- stir nor shiver.

The sun along its leap, East nor West,
pulled by both in equal measure, halfway hangs.
Above the leaved and lavish spires, about the blue
and lighted sky, it calm and cloudless keeps.

Then, tossing wide across the meadowed plain,
down the dormant hills and rolling, sound
nor ripple made, a soft and sudden sigh;
a quickening tide approaching, tense and lifting,
swelled and building, billows 'long the shore.

It rushing whispers rumors, fro and to,
to every tree who listening, near and distant
bend their boughs and call in chorus rote;
who cast their violet pedals 'cross that
breathing meadow, tossing slow and dear,
languid tracing trails, each other chasing.

All that's green and growing, deepens glowing,
gasps and knowing shakes and shivers.
Every leaf alight with anxious chatter
greets the sudden pitter patter, pitter patter,
upon them pearled and played.

The swelling storm upon the West, an instant stayed,
peaked and curled, a baleful crown of clouds
about its deepened crest- decides.

As burst the stars at twilight's rise and wake,
like snow from burdened boughs, or late exhale
from long intake, above the tempest breaks.