There was a deer here last night.
The pokeweed is gone,
nibbled to a nubbin. 6-1-13
What is the one thing? Breathing.
This morning even the warm breeze
The first 17-year cicada sings.
He’s far away and
there is no answer. 6-2-13
The drowsy squirrel rouses
when the hawk flies
under his branch. 6-4-13
Sharon’s shadow falls flat.
Myrtle’s shadow falls sideways.
My shadow doesn’t fall at all. 6-4-13
Cut off from earth and water,
a garland of round greenbrier leaves
lives on air. 6-5-13
Catbird is chasing
mockingbird in the crab apple.
Swallowtail gets out of the way. 6-8-13
A drop of white poop
from the thick spot in the hedge.
Wren, not moving. 6-8-13
Swallowtail has found
all the vine honeysuckle
I missed. 6-11-13
Columbine’s seed pods
are turning brown, the same
color as the little chipmunk
that walked over my toe. 6-12-13
Blue jay complains.
Catbird is quiet. 6-19-13
Rock cress mustard is finished now.
Columbine has the pot to herself. 6-19-13
Columbine’s leaves rust over
the rain-pocked chalk.
Patio table still life. 6-20-13
a nest in the thick place
between the two myrtles.
Little calls give it away. 6-23-13
Yesterday the fox flew through twice.
The second time, he stopped
for a drink. 6-25-13
A gray morning.
The first rosy sharon catches a carpenter bee. 6-27-13
The wall of green has a hole.
It used to be full of stars. 6-29-13