Toward summer

A goal, a finish line, 

some horizon not so distance

though not too near, as we

take a step, walk the empty streets.

*

Ten weeks until the end of May,

my legs urge me forward

through the emergent fronds

of daffodils soon to be flush, yet destine

*

to fade, fall by my feet

still moving forward

through green grass now tall

and tasseled.  I will pause,

*

pluck a moist stalk

and plant it between my teeth,

the very image of Huckleberry Finn

and continue walking toward the river

*

where I am sure to dip my toes

in waters warmed by summer.