short summer nights —
the air moves aside briefly
to let us slip through

lining up our walk
so we can keep the Buck Moon
in glorious view

darkening skies —
we feel the thunder
somewhere inside

no justice, no peace —
new protestors chanting
the old chants

zinnia buds
clenched a little less tightly
first thing this morning

this, our broken world —
from the forest, a wood thrush
threads a mending song

we swim long laps
leading and drafting
by turns

lizards running through
the elementary school garden 
now that it's summer

a mockingbird pair
in near-constant flight 
feeding their nestlings

I unstick myself
from the living room couch
to look for the half moon

the mockingbird
stops on a low branch, thinking
of taking a break