Out
of the soft morning,
mourning
dove calls
sounding
lost. 6-17-18
Chipmunk
with grass in
his mouth
stops at my foot.
Kitty watches from the window. 7-17-18
Summer
flows over the sitting poet,
the
creeper-caught sun
rests
below. 7-1-18
All
my forever poems
echo
catbird, redbird
speaking
the old language. 7-2-18
Below
the river,
far
beyond the Glade,
mourning
dove touches
the
morning softness
with
her own softness. 7-2-18
Summer
moves across
planes
of columbine—
leaf
miners tunneling. 7-4-18
The
long winter wait is for this—
straight
morning sun pausing,
coming
through pinwheels,
pausing
long enough to notice,
to
receive. 7-4-18
The
first moment outside—
redbird
is chirping.
And
from the west, a response. 7-6-18
In
the gray light
waiting
to be pink,
today’s
rose-of-sharon. 7-6-18
The
teenage raccoon on the patio
is
bigger than Stella. Between growls,
Stella puffs herself up. 7-6-18
Preening
in the old crab apple,
fledgling
cat bird
in
the sun. 7-8-18
Mourning
dove,
morning
sun,
honeysuckle’s
curved leaves. 7-8-18
In
another month
the
ringing in my ears will be gone,
replaced
with crickets. 7-8-18