to this constant ache

for clear, green places
where sitting is an act
of prayer to the exquisite
sunlight gilding our hair
here is a dream: haloed
by vibgyor, we are
spring’s first flush
dozy with pleasure
the concertina
breathes into blades
of grass, the wind
a murmur pausing on
the backs of cattle,
the sky is watercolor
still life of radiant days