last day of August —
the space between cicada calls
lengthens out

super blue moon —
everyone walking home
slows down for a look

hurricane watch —
we wait for the radar map
to refresh

rain in the forecast —
the mushrooms rise up
in anticipation

we fill the birdbath
the sound of water splashing
our invitation

as fall approaches
it's harder to tell them apart —
fledglings and their parents

synching my breath
with the monarch's wing beats —
milkweed in the sun

crickets offering
their encouragement through song —
it's working, friends

more smoke in the air —
the world is connected 
by burning forests

summer steps aside
to let fall say hello —
open the windows

as I fall asleep
the meadow spills into me —
milkweed, wild yarrow…

evacuation —
a lifetime of memories
with no time to pack

lining up summers
to look down the row of years
and make a few notes

summer hours —
even the crickets
knock off early

sent to the back stoop
with ears of corn for husking —
sisters in summer

little lesbian
studying the other girls
in order to pass

warm day getting warmer —
at last I jump on my bike,
create my own breeze

the monarch and I
checking in on each other
as the day flies by

robins and crickets —
treasuring our common sounds
after time away

read to me again
a story I know by heart —
perennials coming back

ash instead of rain —
we close our eyes to see
where the banyan stood

cutting back
all the non-native flowers —
I'll tell the bees

listening to rain
making its way back
to the lake

places where the rock
folded in on itself —
time touching time

northern gannet pair
their bent necks a reflection
longing and relief

when I was five
my father built a sail boat —
I handed him nails

first, salty beach air
then clover and pine needles —
my sweet sun-baked day

past overflowing —
the fog that poured in today
kept right on coming

a cliffside walk
matching songs to their singers —
I know yours, as well