wide open windows
for the first time this summer —
we shush each other

small enough

that it must be from this spring —

hedgerow bunny

clouds all day

and underneath, a layer

of birdsong

rain while we sleep

a few new shades of green

dreams of a fresh start

every dune

both playground and pillow —

baby foxes

summer’s reach —

warmth pulsing back from the earth

come such a long way

waiting

while pretending not to —

cats in gardens

fallen through

the waves of morning song

grounded baby bird

girls at the pool

ignoring a rule or two —

true summer

after the rain

the sound of it still rushing

under the streets

summer solstice —

a field full of fireflies

on standby

grandmother’s suitcase

a little heavier now

as the trip winds down

swimsuits dripping

and flip flops on the stairs —

summer’s percussion

an experiment

this wisteria tendril

reaching across space

two crows

flinging their cries

further and further

homemade lemonade

no extra charge

for gap-toothed grins

heads almost touching

we take telescope turns —

the stars wink and flirt

where we tried

to follow each other’s lead —

no more dancers

seeds on the sidewalk

waiting on rain to wash them

to someplace better

allow me to stay

in the pages of my book —

hush now, you crickets!

what slipped inside

the doors we forgot to close —

almost summer

several summers in

we find a rhodedendron

overgrown and shy

even with shoes on —

I practice reaching up

to hug our teen

pre-dawn bird song

full of urgency and need —

don’t miss this sunrise

I love to wake up

before you open your eyes...

when I’m just a dream

these pink clouds

holding the last of the light —

I remember you



(in memory of my friend Ann)

twin fawns

heads down in the new grass —

we look and look

she cuts herself

an iris from the garden —

single again

like a time machine

to the year I was eight —

grape jelly

looking well past

the surface of the pond —

blue heron