kim’s redbuds

we’ve had a setback to cooler days

as can happen in kansas april

bare toes have purpled to slipper stage

and yet i stubbornly remain unshod

spring, when the impish redbuds shout

‘i’m here!’ in highway, wood and yard

and our fairy ring of lush lily-of-the-valley

mysteriously never blooms

january seems a century ago

while september could come tomorrow

such a strange thing, time, into which we’re woven

we the rebellious, we the redeemed

bound by a concept unstrictured for its Maker

what is time, and when shall it cease being foreign?

in one million yesterdays from tomorrow, perhaps

in an everlastingness of springs, beyond the horizon

somewhere in the neverend of eternity eternal