Foxglove face the field
of tall grass and wildflowers—
rabbits disappear.

With a devotion,
we visit this flower field—
like an otherworld.

Satellite of blooms,
floating on a tall, thin stem—
dark heart, wild carrot.

Covered in pollen,
a bee works a teasel bloom,
the breeze blows us both.

Searching time and place—
the beauty and loneliness
almost always win.

Fireflies light the way
under the full thunder moon,
I am not alone.

Regeneration—
light of the first galaxy
in my sunflower.

We walk, reacquaint,
and accompanying us,
wild beautiful things.

The poet's flower,
thin-stemmed wild carrot blooming
a constellation.

The gifts of living:
to write poems every day,
to remember it.

Clover hums with bees,
my dog sits and listens with
his unsaddened heart.

One sunflower turns
away from the other twelve—
face towards the courtyard.

An unsettled day,
Robins chase fireflies at dusk,
flash—a light goes out.

Sunflower at night
under July thunderstorms,
before the crickets.

Zinnia, nasturtium,
marigolds from last year's seeds,
four round dianthus.

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.