Fading peony,
mid-June and almost finished,
the ants keep working.

A day is enough,
peonies older than me—
living a full life.

Up out of the marsh,
across the lake, wings an M—
a great blue heron.

On the lake's surface,
lily pads make a painting—
line, curve, and color.

Branches directing,
gingko like a weathervane,
no koi in your pond.

Raining on our heads,
raining on the wild iris,
purple more purple.

This small universe,
under leaves, under trees, sky—
up from underground.

At the red wing marsh,
wild daisies, me and my dog,
faces to the sun.

Silver lake and sky,
yellow hawkweed just in bloom,
we keep our secrets.

In the cool morning
wild daisies grow in strong clumps—
a finch sings his heart.

Wild daisy season—
plucked from along the highway,
faces to the sun.

Nodding together,
lupine looks like family,
deciding to bloom.

In the fountain pool,
a single dandelion
makes a double wish.

Their work together,
the ant and the peony,
like roaming the moon.

These pink columbine—
I put sadness on their heads,
fragile and bowing.

Irises blooming—
every garden memory
has a place for them.

The heart's beginning—
it caused me to change my life,
asleep until then.

Evening birds call,
bullfrogs talk to each other,
we walk and listen.

Spring mushroom blooming,
the woods wet with a day's rain,
mysterious life.

The sun falling low,
the peace in this green forest
grows from the ground up.