Despite the weeds and hot, hot sun the petunias turn their innocent faces to the sun black-eyed susans keep my secrets hibiscus has a new coral bloom each morning--
Clover blossoms
in the lawn, thick
as the Milky Way;
the doe spends
every day here
feeding on stars
in broad daylight.
Friday, June 13, 2014
Strawberry moon binds my shadow to the night sidewalk leads me to myself the trees whisper their secret crickets lean into their song.
Look at it from the other side--
the spiral has another way to go.
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Tonight the moon is following my every move; it is neither waning nor obscured by clouds, it is high and luminous and full of possibility.
I've arrived--
looks like paradise--
but where are you--
you said you'd
be here too.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Which bird trembles first when the rest of them follow, when the best of them shadow so skillfully, teeming with purpose?
A third of the way through June,
the temperature at dawn
is only forty eight degrees;
summer takes her time here,
more patient than the five-point buck
steamrolling the ferns
anxious for his breakfast.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Sometimes things just break and it's not a sign of anything. . . sometimes doors open for no reason, so we say it's just the wind.
Sometimes you need this
kind of Tuesday--
the wet, grey glue that
holds your life together.
Monday, June 9, 2014
Locust song fills the space between the river and the road, between yesterday and today, though there are no locusts in this life and the world has settled to a slow hum.
You'd think that Swainson's thrush
would tire of this rigid schedule,
but he's always up ten minutes
after I am, and he never fails
to follow me to bed.
Sunday, June 8, 2014
You know how it happens-- one day you're sifting seed into soil, cropping the hedges, comfortable breezes grazing your skin. . . but before long sycamore leaves crackle beneath your feet. . . pine and brier resist, but the garden aches and declines until it is impossible to mend.
A horde of starving caterpillars
swarms my chair, beguiled
by the iron flowers wrought
into its legs and arms and back;
most of them will surely die
before they come to realize
their careless mistake.