just two days in —
the jasmine is already
climbing our trellis

we compare notes
on where we last saw the fox —
learning the territory

backyard sunshine
the delicious smell of dirt —
our thoughts turn inward

how the world opens
wild in the gaps and edges
as we look away

baby birds 
their feathers not yet grown in —
Robb Elementary

fledgling sparrows —
having to think about it
before taking flight

a call unanswered
the feeling of hope fading —
wrong kind of quiet

tucked into burrows
where their mothers left them —
this year's rabbits

already dreaming
of turning to face the light —
sunflower seedling

heat wave in mid-May —
we watch a sparrow hop
from shadow to shade

fog settling in —
we row towards 
our memory of the bridge

(the shift from
avoiding puddles
to stomping in them)

wanting to believe
tests that come back negative —
Nana's checkup

summer sweetness
measured in strawberries —
I stain my fingers

rainbows turning
everyone young again —
we tumble outside

smaller, even,
than I remember —
euphorbia petals

spring just out of reach —
iris petals visible 
but not yet open

trying to learn how
to tell the foxes apart —
fleeting morning glimpse

two front yard bunnies
stopping in mid chase to brave
a quick peek at us

the last of the light
slipping away no matter
how hard the trees try

embers drifting up
along with campfire songs —
shadows jumping, too

right down the middle —
a wobbly new bike rider,
mom running behind

all the news
we can't believe
coming true anyway

threading a path
through all the puddles —
rainy spring Saturday

last summer's shade
blooming in our memory
as these buds unfurl

turn over some soil
to make room for new seeds —
say what you hope for

in and out of focus —
a sliver of moonlight
down for a skinny dip

pink petals
in little wind-swept piles —
now I notice them

sleep-ending thunder
at the darkest time of night —
we turn on a light

rainy spring night —
we find another way
to fit together