Joie de vivre

We walk amongst
the pregnant
trees in torpid flower,
in breezeless damp
that hangs
a cloying pall
and can’t relieve
the rising smell.

Breathing in the
aching draughts
of liquid-laden air,
as redolent
as chloroform
intense and sweet,
disarming eyes
and aching head.

Hear the toneless
roaring of the bees,
drowned in silence
so complete
that chirping birds
cannot be heard
and seek the treeless
margins for relief.

The drug
of life returning
turns a sweet
dependency,
a yearning
so replete
your aching eyes
will sleep awake.

Seeking signs
along the way,
of tiny greening
nodules rising on
the panicles
in flower aspirant,
of orchard pests
in guilty flight.

Above the setting
fruit delight in
red-bronzed leaves
exciting burst
from soft-wood twigs
ascending into
light-delivered
orchard joie de vivre.
© I.D. Carswell