oohs and ahhs

drifting away with the smoke —

fireworks

all through the morning

my heart pumps apologies

for the door I slammed

puddles winking up

at the now-blue sky —

did it rain? he asks

do you sing? she asks

and we smile at each other —

unexpected ease

(in gratitude to Maya Angelou)

whose emergency?

sirens sounding closer

now that she’s gone

fresh flowing water

touching salty sea once more —

sweet Colorado

(inspired by this)

the last-second swerve

of a swallow as it swoops

and skims the water

in our games back then

the winner was the one who

still had one bite left

longing

for a light to follow

in the rain-dark night

we try to explain —

when words grow thick in our throats

we hold him instead

in memoriam: Liz Gray Erickson

early morning itch —

remembering last night’s

mosquitos

winged seed cases

whirling down in a hurry

to rest in the ferns

mid-spring morning —

the first peony to bloom

sets an example

road ends in swamp —

the difference between

our map and the world

our long-fallen tree

still nourishing the garden

these thirty years on

(for my dear friend A.Y.)

sudden quiet

as we pass under the bridge —

a break in the rain

my almost-deaf friend

isn’t sure he’s got it right —

I come out again

even now

with the light almost gone

a few last bird songs

the smell of chalk dust

brings me all the way back to

elementary

how to convince

the scurrying spider

we’re on the same side

each afternoon

the mailbox spider and I

hopeful in our ways

azaleas in bloom —

bees exchange revisions

to their flight plans

the stars at night —

slowing down again

to wait for us

spring’s grass engine

silent persistent pistons —

green and green and green

young garden rabbit:

quite sure a jump to the moon

would be do-able

with the old tree gone

the sun coaxes a raft

of new blue blossoms

I meet the fence

on equal terms and smile,

clambering over

the rain circles back —

the song in my head all day

is a round

we coast down Quarry

with arms flung wide to catch

the feeling of flight

there at the window

a little more of the moon —

in my mirror, too

come on in, she says —

in the midst of the downpour

I hear a new note