The sun is low and electrifies
entanglements woven
between branches holding
the fruits of roses filling
an expanse
I choose to count on.

Like the monthly silver
dollar suspended
by threads of floating ice.

Summer Storm

In this August
full of berries
rain and thunder
came down.

Though it came with blessings
and a chance to see red
and grab with both hands
the strength
of antlers growing
out of the ripening moon.


I sink to the floor
of the waves within
and outside
magpies cackle
rinsing no doubt
their beaks to a shine
as if dipped in tar
after bullying the woodpigeons
who have their say
as I bet cat’s ears
bend in the wind
while bees surely
take their fill everywhere.

And I now know
that blowing a dandelion
is freedom
and each wisp
is a moment