the flow of these years —

each new calendar page

a tiny ripple

busy at stoplights —

my side view mirror spider

starts over again

gathering storms

whether we mean to

or not

one egret flying

impossibly low

out over the lake

this morning’s race —

the only sounds I hear

my footfalls and breath

I use my cup

to carry the cricket

outside

six deer before dawn

heads turning as if asking

why are YOU awake?

in lieu of words

she sends her love

across the river

fruit flies —

waiting for me to come home

from the market

the egret and I

surprising each other

as the sun comes up

pulling hard

just to feel the glide

that tells you you’re home

southbound train —
one by one, we riders choose
the river side

fast asleep

in the hammock of the day —

last slice of summer

end of the season —

sharp and jagged edges

where the corn once stood

early fall —

the patio umbrella

a lighter shade

wildfire season —

listening for the sound

of rain

old trees —

what kind of ancestor

will I become?

geese on the lake

honking at us to get back

in our lane

open windows

followed by a flurry

of ragweed sneezes

a bowl full of dough

and an oven

that won’t light

red at the tip —

locust leaves in September

just warming up

fog below,

clouds above —

muffled morning

the way

when she speaks of grief

my throat tightens

back and forth

on the road to our parents —

the moon looks on

crisp September sky

its blue indescribable —

still, we try

late night rabbit

just a tail in the moonlight

moving away

light housekeeping —

we invite last night’s moth

back outside

just like that

he changes places —

taller than Tama

umbilical —

fledglings still

hopping along behind

nursing home baseball —

one bad call

after another