The Late Display of Yellow Sage

It’s early. Out of cold ground. March frosts
at daybreak. Splashy forsythia and quince
catch the eye. In biting air, sage might be lost,
its first shoots waving like small hands raised.

It stands. In summer heat. Goat’s beard droops.
Hydrangea sparkles till dry weather, then folds its tent.
Big leaves on squarish stalks, sage lifts any group –
low greenery on wooded path, ferns under trees.

Still there in November twilight. Energized.
Against all the browns, whorls of yellow flowers
adorn green sage. Who would apologize
for craving the likes of this late display of powers.

*Laurence Avery is a member of the English department at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. In addition to numerous scholarly books and articles, he has published poems in Sandhills Review, Pembroke Magazine, Sewanee Review, and Tar River Poetry.