Summer Meditation by Kathleen Cassen Michaelson

After the weeds lie in piles, roots exposed,
I linger near the garden, inhale
iris perfume, soak up
morning humidity that settles in
like an old friend.
I slip into a summer stupor,
drunk on the languid June hours
as if emerging from winter clothes
was not enough, as if
bursting leaves and spring flowers
were not enough and these warm winds
were the only vehicle
to this one perfect moment