REMEMBRANCE
(For Emily Dickinson)

You have not been here
a moment ago
in a resemblance
of enfolded fresh jonquils
when the snow is gone
on the threshold
of the now green lawn
a trove of trees surprising us
with as a single purple crocus
in our April flower bed
emerges by a benefit chance
to focus on us to sum up
a singular lover of words
still with her spirit's momentum
by the Amherst Common
as we visit Emily Dickinson
away from tumultuous crowds
of college students from Maine
and ski country of Vermont
which made this discerning poet
feel the thrill of an hour
of wanting reinvented knowledge
knowing that my annual return
is a pleasant metamorphosis
wanting to bring
more long stemmed violets
for her resting place
above a shower's jet of rain
as one of our prominent
public critics
recite her belief in poetry's lore
facing the sun in a private lane
of learning about her lonely folklore
that all acquainted with her belief
has concealed a reinvented quatrain
we are reacting to this spring
as we seek a season's relief
in the peek of the sun
to primarily view new saplings
that awoke us but not in vain
as turning over a new leaf
sweeping up any earthly deficit
of our authentic memory's revealed
but never fully contained.