Unfinished.

Chatham, Spring Creek, 1995

These days between late spring

and early summer are like paintings

already hanging but not yet finished

[…] still waiting for their final touches

and smelling of linseed and turpentine:

everything fresh, the paint still wet,

the taut sky primed with a wash of blue.

The Siberian irises, not yet

unfurling, their buds still tight,

look like paintbrushes saturated

with ultramarine; buttercups

spatter the meadow with yellow.

From an arbor of scribbled vines,

blossom-clusters of wisteria

dangle, glistening with last night’s rain.

A wood thrush calls in liquid trills

from deep within the background’s

mass of pale, soft greens. The air

chills while the sun warms the scene.

May these days remain unfinished

a while longer, with no artist

jostling his way in

to apply some final flourish

or a coat of varnish that will

only darken. Let the bumblebee

fumble among the blossoms.

Jeffrey Harrison