Author: Bob Redmond

wildflower meadow
the names you’re not here
to tell me

on a field trip
all their craning necks—
turtles on a log

the neighbor boy
saws his cello off-key–
spring breeze

the closed-up
amusement park
cicadas roar

old growth forest the feeling of being watched

saving for a winter’s day gold-dusted bee

with nicotine-stained
fingers he pays the fare
winter rain