Gone in Increments
September dawn has lit my lemon tree
and tinted fruit in mystic ruby shades.
Small clusters hang like silent bells against
the window pane. A citrus scent cascades
along each waxy leaf, then lifts to comb
worn eaves where last year's empty nests are wedged.
My cat is pacing underneath the sill;
moist lilies and geraniums have edged
against the mossy walk and wall. My sheers
are parted, and I watch one saffron beam
appear through thorny boughs. Now morning warms
the lawn in increments of light. Each seam
of day is filled with thoughts of you— aloof
in subtle turns and hues of cloud. Reserved
inside wrapped petals of a rose. Your hand
holds all elusive beauty I've observed.