..just then
It was just there, a few weeks ago,
When the Sun was high;
Nestled with Fleabane;
Pillowed in Stitchwort.
Barely fern-like and feathery, just new,
A small Astilbe, from somewhere.
Growing was newer, just then,
Hinting boundlessness, endlessness;
Stirring in Bindweed;
Rising in Buttercups.
This slanting-orange morning, just now,
Spade in hand to save the Astilbe, I find it gone;
Taken by Redroot,
Fallowed by Sorrel.
Barely reddish, silent, nubile green, just new,
The small Astilbe from somewhere, now gone!
I guess it was a moment’s treasure, just then.
Like oblique light upon the wood, just now.
Or parched Cocklebur,
Or withered Hop.
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