front yard bunny —
a smaller younger version
hopping gingerly

fields of fireflies
renewing their vows —
'til dawn do us part

heat-weary sparrow
watching us as if to say
please don't make me fly

while we were away
a new constellation —
blooming zinnias

on the forest floor
we can only hear the rain —
trees keeping us dry

our yard has a hole
from a tree limb that fell
five years ago now

strawberry moon —
still feeling the sun's warmth
where it kissed my cheeks

early summer sun —
the sound of grains of sand
falling as they dry

three sibling goslings
paddling under the dock —
grass for lunch again

more than enough
sunlight for every leaf —
summer solstice

warming up
outside my open window —
the cricket chorus

water protectors
in fields of wild rice —
look down to see sky

iridescent wings —
late day sun tripping
over cicadas

I tell my friends
what my father would have said —
perennials coming back

leaves turning their backs
as the clouds pile up —
anticipation

tiny prairie warbler
spinning her notes up
past the tree tops

as the rain began
I looked over and saw you
deciding to stay

warm June nights —
we choose our pajamas
only to take them off

wider every morning —
silver mound artemisia
claiming some more space

we carry their bags
while the hikers hike 
on to the next gap

even in my dream
I remember who was here —
Lenni Lenape

standing at the edge
digging my toes in the sand —
hold onto summer

dropping in
through our broken chimney —
all manner of things

evening primrose —
a new universe of blossoms
every morning

my neighbor shares
news of her father's passing —
the trees take a breath

(for A.L.)

softly trailing me
on my late night walk —
scent of wisteria

when you try
to get back into a dream —
first love

we talk back
to the chimney-stuck cicada —
no one's winning

holes boarded up
that could have been doors —
barn owls circling

Pride month —
listening for some new notes
in the dawn chorus