Abstract
Gazing at May's blossoms, imagining bounty of Mclntosh, I praise old lilacs rising in woods beside cellarholes; I praise toads. I predict the telephone call that reports the friend from childhood cold on a staircase. I praise children, grandchildren, and just-baked bread. I praise fried Spam and onions on slices of Wonder Bread; I praise your skin. I predict the next twenty years, days of mourning, long walks growing slow and painful. I reject twenty years of mid-life; I reject rejections. The one day stands unmoving in sun and shadow.
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