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
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—
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