you could take a walk
into the oncoming twilight of an early June,
just before the magic hour saunters in,
when liquid light-gold flows in slow-motion
through green leaves,
in between dark branches.
Maybe someone is kindling common air to sacred flame
through the mouth of a trumpet.
Maybe the lilacs are sprayed up
against the brick walls.
Perhaps a lover
waits for you.
perhaps it’s just an early June,
just the magic hour.