we look away

from the calendar —

last days of summer

our side yard cricket

and a late night train whistle

passing each other

waves with whitecaps

rolling down the interstate —

hurricane traffic

late night revival —

joy and lamentation

as the songs ring true

(Inspired by the Resistance Revival Chorus)

two weeks of quiet

followed by a torrent —

summer camp return

we sneak up

on our own garden —

bright flash of goldfinch!

so much louder

with the windows open —

late-August nights

through the warming air

bees traveling their honey road —

I follow your scent

on the edge

of the bowl of summer —

crickets, singing away

heat lightning —

in every crowd I see you

for a split second

passing around

the special sunglasses —

solar eclipse

still delighting in

our shared vocabulary —

anniversary

sunflower centers

and homemade protest signs —

seeds for next season

deer out foraging

in fields just before the storm —

I race the rain home

mid August flip turns —

I see myself

coming and going

the difference

between torch light

and candlelight

(HT @AlyssaHarad, who first tweeted this... I just broke it into three lines and switched the order a bit)

hospital visit —

I put the rudbeckia

in a plastic cup

simply holding on

until the rain subsides —

side yard swallowtail

bamboo’s slow creep

from the yard to the house —

we finally notice

nobody’s free

until everybody’s free —

Fannie Lou Hamer

the protesters

closest to the baby

smiling when she laughs

tiptoeing through

so rest of us can sleep —

twin fawns in the field

tiny green spider —

even after it’s long gone

I think I feel it

our front yard bunny
just the tips of its ears
bright with morning sun

water running through

the cup I’ve made of my hands —

how is it August?

all day long

flower stalks slowly bending —

giving in to grief

full moon holding fast

as the wind hustles the clouds —

your name on my lips

cicadas

giving way to crickets

as the moon rises

family game night —

he teaches us the rules

we used to know

leaving a dead branch

in hopes that the goldfinch

will come winging back

I tell the story

discovering as I go — 

blue heron in flight

photo: George Thomas on Flickr

trying to read

over my shoulder —

moths, bumping the window