Rows of dianthus,
I had them line my walkway,
called them Sweet William.

Blue heron above,
green teasel out this morning,
my dog's nose wakes up.

Purple thistle bloom
in a field of green silence
uncomplicates us.

Open to the sky,
the same color as the sun,
all day you follow.

Sunflower, awake
for the first time under clouds,
rain coming in soon.

Morning sunflower,
I'm up sorting my worries—
you're not awake yet.

June-blooming roses,
my heart is no longer full—
I have a keepsake.

Early wild carrot,
purple heart at the center,
always meaning well.

Sharp, confiding thing,
moth on new pink milkweed blooms—
something that makes sense.

The red-wing pair flies
sensing the sky not as sky,
the wind not as wind.

Built for birds perching,
cattail flowers, full of seeds,
stand as tall as us.

Lighter than paper,
better than calligraphy,
pearl crescent butterfly.

Like a long-necked crane,
the nasturtium lifts its head
and decides to bloom.

Wild yellow foxglove,
heads down along its green spine,
secrets run inside.

June walk with my dog,
catalpa along the path,
we step on old blooms.

Cattails like flagpoles—
red-wings moving up and down
in ceremony.

Early sunflower,
finches sing in its new leaves,
sun and moon both out.

There is mystery
in the morning songs of birds
and deep, deep grasses.

A man and his dog—
walking on Sunday morning,
true love between them.

Life begins midway,
darkening with mystery—
the deepest forest.