True brown-eyed Susans,
us two were holy beings
out for a long walk.

At home in the world,
every wildflower wild,
thrilled to be here.

The light shines on us —
on long mornings and long days,
we don’t know our luck.

The moon on its back,
I wake up thinking of you,
us, under dawn sky.

We always begin —
even when hearts are broken,
they’ll leap again still.

Cattails and loosestrife,
tall now, just past the midpoint —
the light is changing.

On an August day,
I was lucky for such love —
I am still lucky.

We’re here together
in spring dandelion grass,
always beginning.

Every joy tempered —
I come home and say, “Mack, Mack...
I still miss your face.”

August goldenrod
alongside grass gone to seed —
white patch on your ear.

The attempt each day —
to appreciate the creek,
the life beside it.

There are always paths,
in and out and through and through,
katydids calling.

My luck was boundless —
to have known such a creature,
safe and in this world.

We’re always going —
into fields of goldenrod,
into that dark night.

The light of summer,
already starting to change,
rabbits hide in the scrub.

Days to contemplate,
to remember all that was —
the sun streaming in.

The world is alive,
there is so much mystery,
love to discover.

Every new good thing
makes me wonder what you’d think —
makes me think of you.

These were our places,
out at dawn, under the moon,
just us, birds waking.

You’re coming with me —
kingbirds, swifts, goldfinches, all
fly the path with us.