In a Season or Two

When memory opens a door

to how we have lived once before

or, maybe, just more than one time

we make an interior rhyme.

It may be hard to remember

how July became December;

how the September river flows

and then, in December, it froze.

In March, when it begins to thaw

we swim in the river with awe.

There has to be a good reason

that just three months make a season.

So in a year there can be four.

We don’t need to have any more.

Walt Abbott–3-7-2011