The Syntax of Seasons

Autumn was adjectival. I recall
a gray, dank, gnarled spell
when all wore fall-quality, a bare
mutating atmosphere.

Winter hardened into nouns. Withdrawn
in lamplight, I would crown
the cold with thought-exactitude, would claim
the drear air with a name.

In spring, all language loosened and became
less in demand, limping, lame,
faced with the bursting days. What told
was tongue-tied wonder at the green and gold.

Steeped now in summer, though our chattering
rises and falls, occasional as birdsong,
we fall to silence under the burning sun,
and feel the great verbs run.