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.