The first lily of June opens its red mouth. 

All over the sand road where we walk 

multiflora rose climbs trees cascading 

white or pink blossoms, simple, intense 

the scene drifting like colored mist. 

The arrowhead is spreading its creamy 

clumps of flower and the blackberries 

are blooming in the thickets. Season of 

joy for the bee. The green will never 

again be so green, so purely and lushly 

new, grass lifting its wheaty seedheads 

into the wind. Rich fresh wine 

of June, we stagger into you smeared 

with pollen, overcome as the turtle 

laying her eggs in roadside sand.