last August day —

a small dog flops on her back

patiently waiting

crickets everywhere

until

we try to catch one

lap swimming —

every breath accompanied

by cicada song

late August —

my day detours around a

suspended spider

where the road’s edge

begins to crumble away —

cornflowers

boys standing closer

to their fathers than before —

to show they’re taller

dry August grass

just beginning

to crunch underfoot

our feet on their way

without conscious instruction —

late night ice cream

mallard calculus —

planning escape, choosing

whether to fly

settling down —

the dog and I

take turns sighing

stopping and starting

we and the rain work it out —

who leads, who follows

bright yellow goldfinch

swooping across our morning —

unmistakeable

holding a baby

she wonders again about

her grandmother name

tuning in

to how he leans away now —

teenager’s goodnight

late summer morning —
watching the rain as it strides
the length of the lake

Tuesday night —

we chase the mosquito

that was chasing us

late summer sun —

the shadow of a bird moves

on my bedroom wall

taking in

a new view —

sideyard bunny

Look at all these hearts

splitting wide: what if? what now?

(Luke Wynne Gallagher)

the spot where the fox

looked at me —

still warm

the taller trees

stretch in anticipation —

Perseid showers

siblings already flown,

the last fledgling jay

pleads with its mother

after we forgot

what kind of plant they gave us —

one small strawberry

windy day walk —

we end up repeating

the hard parts again

a competition

between these blades of grass —

who can catch more light?

in the morning

you ask if I remember

your dream

dusk rolling in

a flock of sparrows

chooses a new tree

against this pink sky

a spider checks her web —

just dew for breakfast

waking at midday

and trying not to feel

the lost sunshine

festival music

wriggles free and floats

towards our home

late summer weeding —

he decides which photos

are worth packing up