Lyric Poetry

Where has summer gone so heartlessly?
I slept two sleeps, and in between

fierce winds and a wilderness of snow
there was an epiphany that didn’t stick,

though its beauty was ravishing.
What mystifies me is the way we

ignore the erotics of detail, the erotics.
I believe that our ancestors believed

they saw faces in everyday objects
like that burned tree that stares back.