black on black
sliding into the night sky —
bats leaving their roost

enough moonlight
to read a love note by —
I write her one more

the sound of a phone
ringing in an empty room —
hope against hope

gone again —
the shy moon sliding back
behind the clouds

thinking about enough —
autumn grass heavy with seed
bent down in the rain

we slow our steps
trying to leave a space
for the fox, the owl

showing us 
how to love a cold snap —
purple lobelia

cloudy autumn day —
all available sunshine
crunching underfoot

a new goose moves
to the front of the “V” —
my dead father’s birthday

October half-moon —
I tidy up the ginger snaps
eating the broken ones

the last few crickets
under already sleeping trees —
still singing away

pushing our fear
ahead of us up the hill —
two weeks out

stealing from the sun
a little more each day —
mid-October leaves

that song I know

from just the first note —

you coming upstairs

I walk the edge
of the field where you birdwatch —
sweet proximities

a space in my mind
shaped just like your phone number —
sharp sliver of moon

upside-down nuthatch —   
unsure if its saved seeds
are here or there

imagining
how we’ll tell them tomorrow —
we saw all the stars

so dark before dawn
I navigate the shrouded world
by instinct

after the rain —
an unstoppable trickle
of puddle stompers

understanding
falling leaves
as prayer

half moon at midnight —
just enough light to look back 
at how far I’ve come

waiting for words
to mean what they used to —
hanging on with the leaves

who will believe
the way the moon looked at dawn
if I don’t believe

one time I came home
with everything I went for —
shopping victory

still caught off guard
by my heart’s drop and flip —
what you do to me

watching as dawn
puts the stars back to bed —
the birds cry all rise

cacophonous geese
cursing each other out —
even by moonlight

(for AB & SB)

busy garden wren —
every moment, making the choice 
between earth and sky

branches piled high —
slowly moving our backyards
around to the front

my grandmother’s
freshly squeezed orange juice —
childhood as nectar