summer T-ball —
between batters outfielders
chase butterflies
Tag: summer
free from school
the chalk dances
across the sidewalk
summer at last
I blow away a grey hair
from my keyboard
thick stump
an ant crosses the growth rings
into my childhood
museum hall
children study
their echoes
fading tattoos
he hauls her wheelchair
from the beach
old pond—
a crab sneaking into
the sunken sneaker
leaf shadows
spatter my skin
this heat
wood’s edge—
stepping inside
the sound of river
mockingbird an octave shy of the moon
war ruins…
suddenly the cicadas
stop
Cigarette smoke
curls against
the white moon.
father-daughter talk
my fishing lure
caught in the moon
something less
than the speed of light
camellia blossoms
the junkyard crane
grabs another car—
wind-tossed poppies
laundry in the garden
the colorful dresses
full of butterflies
rising from prayer
i find myself
in tourist photographs
a row of white houses
across the bay
the glint of binoculars
bush track and mountains
all I can see
is one horse fly
between roots
a woodchuck
gathering sun
a beach day like any other
until she unwinds
the ties of her bikini
The sky darkens
The ocean replies
Falling rain,
the priest kneels before an empty altar.
a solitary bird calls to the space between lightning and thunder
my colleague
flirting with the workmen
. . . endless summer rain
rain in the puddle—
I have nothing to give
to the street musicians
towpath—
a blue heron shifts
the twilight
gone
with the storm
the wind chimes
my neighbors quarrel
deep into the night
seaside rest home
the gentle swell
of his belly
over my thoughts the hush of pines
Her last summer
each day brings
a new flower
workday’s end
a construction worker pees
into the summer sun
cobwebs
fill the curve
of the snow shovel
dropping my dog off
at the kennel her whine
amid all the barks
after the hurricane
only the moon
last day of vacation—
the blackberries
won’t let me go
cloudy day
I wave at the neighbors
I don’t know
a spider
on the floor tile—
checkmate
bus stop
an empty bench
and a bag lunch
from pampas grass
a dragonfly emerges
thunderclaps
gusty wind
chasing one another
three plastic cups
beach party
the last drop of sunlight
caught in a glass
rain
curtain
of absences
the little spider
hunches sideways—
night shift
whispering grass ~
the scythe’s sound against
the stone
World Series
another layer of paint
flakes off the fence
summer’s end
lilies pointing
toward earth
collecting stones
from the river
where I was baptized
moonlight
washes over me
summer’s end—
rearranging gravel
in the Zen garden
last bloom—
closing
the shears
shadows fold within shadows of the rose
again and again
a little girl makes it rain
cherry blossoms
phosphorescence
a firefly alights
on the periodic table
summer breeze …
the wind generators
in unison
back at
the pawn shop—
the moon in the window
the curve
of her hips—
buttercups
as she leaves again the scent of apricots
this delicate rain
the petal makes a typo
of a gravestone date
teaching my sons
to skip river stones
ripples converge
beer and wine
a summer night
with my sometime thing
perched
at the tip
of summer
red-winged
blackbird
in the park
pigeons peck in front of
empty benches
white water rafting
we spin around
our laughter
Previously published in Mayfly, Summer 2008
sun-baked dust— the one thing moving is my neighbour's tongue
Carnival Elephant
I lifted a single peanut up to the great animal. His trunk, as thick as a fire hose, brushed past my small offering and went for what I held in my other hand—the whole
flurries of willow fluff
seven ducklings scatter
among the reeds
delta breeze
an old, old song
from the ice cream man
how casually
a brown bird
catches a butterfly
in its beak
and flies away
it happens every year
but still
the woods filled with birdsong
long summer
the smell of rain
new again
summer’s end—
I let the thimbleberry
rest on my tongue
the skip of a skipping stone alpine swifts
Twilight
and it gives off the kind of hot chill one can get at times of transition. fever in a meadow, when the sun hangs on while evening cools the tall grasses in which you stand
moving through
the summer moon
slow swell
attention
standing tall in a stiff breeze
ixias
light falling everywhere in its own place — summer’s end
at a crossroads
summer wind
through prairie grass
previously published in: Jim Applegate, ed., Small Canyons 4 Anthology (2009),