I forget myself
under the full sturgeon moon,
fireflies everywhere.

A bright round balloon
floats in the sky—I drive home,
the late summer moon.

Bed of sleeping bees,
sunflower, a yellow moon
quiet and blooming.

Circular wren song,
busier than other birds,
beak towards the sky.

Unfathomable
worries and fears come to life,
despite all of this.

Deep secrets and all,
on my interior wall—
hazy morning sun.

Parasol mushrooms,
my dog senses deer were here,
under evergreens.

Closed-in August days,
falling asleep to rainstorms,
waking to dark skies.

The sunflower bed—
like other ends of summer,
birds singing at dusk.

Young hawk at the church,
fresh feathers, staying too long,
not afraid of us.

Twin bees work at dusk,
we weave through the garden paths,
part of the landscape.

Clouds break and connect,
a stormy feel to the day—
raindrops on the wind.

Purple phlox bouquet
picked before I leave for home,
my mother's garden.

The end of the week,
zinnias and blazing stars bloom
with or without us.

I am unfinished,
but beautiful and complete,
a home for the sun.

Commemorating
the things I'm afraid to lose—
the small and big loves.

A one day story:
wild carrot against blue sky,
opens like a cloud.

Sun lights up their heads,
teasels coming into bloom—
midsummer bugs buzz.

The evening light
falls over the cattail marsh,
one purple loosestrife.

Sunflowers in July,
my company until now—
changing once again.