remembrance

I'd forgotten about summer, somehow,
like a comfortable and familiar shirt
carelessly returned to the wrong dresser drawer
after the wash,
found again—the smile of reunion.

Now, on the warmest night yet this year,
late May, after a lumbering spring and too little sun,
standing on the porch
to take in some air before sleep—
the night luxuriant with silence—

That twinge of familiarity.
Ah, yes,
I remember it now—
the heat, the light, exuberant growth,
a flood of awakening memory;
how had this been lost?

Spill light from the porch lamp
strains to reveal burst dandelion heads below,
waiting for a breeze;
and though I feel none,
the newly blooming redosier dogwood by the foot of the stairs
wriggles silently, expectant.

Clearly, she'd forgotten too.