almost sixty years

of signing cards with two names —

her pen hovers, stalls

a glow the only sign

of the cloud-obscured moon —

we go by memory

I can still hear

the fork beating on a glass bowl

as he scrambled eggs

last days of summer —

the unpredictable flight
of butterflies

how long did we stand

looking at each other —

five deer at dusk

sloshing around

in the bottom of the kayak —

last cup of summer

cheering on

the almost-full summer moon

as if we matter

as the sun slid down

we watched a goldfinch plucking

end-of-season seeds

monarch butterfly

overwhelmed by the choices —

so many flowers!

underground streams

re-routed by grief’s flood —

what does dry feel like?

here and then not —

a fox and her mate show us

the limits of sight

after the wedding

the wind-tossed trees, the clouds…

it all feels like dance

cooler air at last —

crickets fill every fresh space

with their urgent song

mid-August night —

an owl and the crickets

still going strong

sparks jump between us

but it’s too hot out for touch —

heat lightning

as soon as I wake,

trying to get back to you —

waves on the shore

from just this angle
pine boughs leave a space
for the crescent moon

which stars

will we navigate by?

I draw you a map...

another cloudy night —

crickets tossing the same song

back and forth

a fox stares us down

all legs and confidence —

prickly summer heat

gentle morning rain —

the world rolls over

and goes back to sleep

a hawk flies over

fresh-caught fish in its talons

ripples in the world

gentle evening air

looking for a way to be

reborn in song

mapping the heat wave —

a pigeon walking along 

too worn out for flight

grandmother’s garden —

one stalk beaten down by rain

still flowering

late afternoon shadows

slipping down the bedroom wall —

your hands in my dream

in the back garden

two monarchs braiding sunshine —

I call my best friend

feeling the weight

of not being able to help —

hospice visit

you cast off the lines

one foot on land, one on board —

I hold out my hand

hotdogs for bait —

you catch one perch so often

we give it a name

near the waves and sand

days give their numbers the slip,

seabirds snag the wind