Saturday evening sun
pours its gold in wine.
Day dissolves in giddy bubbles,
goldrush particles, glad matter.
Strawberries on the side
taste of summer, remembered
surprise: red and green and gold.
Day plump and perfectly ripe.
Across the street, a window blushes
rose in an April dusk.
The bubbles rise and pop.
Day is a kiss still fizzing on lips.
I drink a shimmying gulp of stars
and toast this modest
but tremendous bliss.
Day distilled into pure delight.