Fringe Tree

James Davis May

-- Or Old Man's Beard.

That the names we give recall the thing

is what we want. And yet, both names are boring

when compared to the way it shimmers there

like a firework that somehow doesn't fall,

or the way it will fall eventually

from itself, swirling its gauzy pollen

in the wind above the lawn

where the children next door run outside in late April,

swearing to their mother that it's snowing.

And even after they know they're wrong,

they squeal, insisting their mistake

is something to dance through, something

to repeat and repeat again -- not hoping

to make it right, just enjoying what it is

and what it looks like the more they say so.