A Sonnet (What Garden?) Poem by michael oliver

There in front of me unripe hardly formed
Emerging from the fallen blossom
By the early season sun just warmed
Some apples round and yet to come
green and small instants so becalmed
Between being and not being one

My father stands along my side
So lost and now being so alive
Memories crowd and here reside
All is and was cogent and live
The apples to my mind confide
Time is so made so to be with

The heart yearns with too much aching
To live forever here, the now, the making