I had you at the height of your poem.
Green thundered in the silence of itself.
I think our moment had its perfect storm,
Though it existed in a shadow tune.
A feeling older than Methuselah
Brings back your Slavic mood with every spring.
I treasure April as I would a Psalm.
Distance, my friend, is rare and ripe for praise.
Previously published, 'The World Poets Quarterly', China
Sandra Fowler
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/perfect-storm/
