The
cool morning turned
up
to a furnace in the time it takes
to
brew a pot of tea.
In
the heavy air, the trees move slowly.
7-5-12
The
cicadas have found their way
up
the trees. They sing counterpoint
to
the crows. Late summer come early. 7-5-12
A
bee in the sharon.
Another
bee in another sharon.
Me,
watching the pokeberries swell.
It’s
a swell morning. 7-10-12
In
the noisy morning
dove’s
hollow call—
a
sphere of solitude
answered
now
by
a faraway other. 7-11-12
Berries
weigh the poke.
The
hound weighs the morning.
Heavy
heat weighs the air.
A
leaf spins on a spider line
in
a breath of air the giant dragonfly
just
stirred up. 7-16-12
Startling,
last night’s rain suddenly falling
out
of the myrtle, sounding like something
walking
with intent, pushing ahead,
first
through the creeper,
then
the sassafras,
then
through columbine’s dry seed pods,
then
to me, turning to see who,
who
comes, who leads with awareness
through
the thick, damp wood.
Something
walked in,
turned
the wood poppy leaves
to
their autumn color,
gave
me a breath,
a turning breath. 7-16-12
Chickadee
flew through the star tree.
She
took something along the way—
a
glance from wren, from redbird,
from
me. 7-18-12
Yesterday’s
rain is still falling
in
tiny drops that do not hinder
carpenter
bee while pink is calling,
the
rosy sharons open enough
in
the rain. 7-22-12
Sieboldii’s
vertical leaves
hold
the silver rain,
the
quiet jewels spaced evenly
like
breath in a slow time. 7-22-12
A
warm day.
The
air would be cool if it moved.
Cicada
moves. 7-24-12
Sharp
in the cool morning—
hibiscus
shadows,
crow
calling.
And
then, the soft cicadas. 7-25-12
A
hedge of pokeweeds.
Who
else has one?
Wren
nosedives in. 7-25-12
Yesterday,
hickory’s first leaves turned,
startling
one in the dark room, drawing.
The
sudden autumn gold cast vibrations
across
the thin tracing paper as thin
and
as blue as the face of time, turning,
folding
summer down. 7-29-12
Catbird
has taken the first purple
pokeberries. The empty pink stalks
stretch
upright like flowers. 7-31-12
