Wisteria by Peter Makuck

When the trees reach a gauzy green
before peak leafage, it begins to appear

dangling down like a nest for some
fantastic bird, ten to thirty feet above

ground, color ranging from purple
to a light lavender, unseen for a year.

And if the color doesn't pinch attention,
its fragrance will, filling your car

on that first warm day when you drive
with windows down on a country road.

Some cluster like bunches of grapes,
or hang like light-blue lanterns left

by someone who knows we need them,
or swaying censers, their sweet balm

filtering inward, making everything new.

   --Peter Makuck, 

       Mandatory Evacuation: Poems