At Third Sister Lake,
trees and clouds in the water,
my heart in the sky.

Faces like velvet,
I plant them, again, again—
they remember.

That last blue iris—
we’re getting deep into June,
nestlings learn to fly.

Vireo season
red-eyed, warbling, yellowthroat—
voice of the forest.

Woods full of Robins—
every other call is theirs,
round-eyed and running.

Painted catalpa,
Oriole nest overhead,
nestlings chirp for food.

Solitary figures—
stand of daisies at daybreak,
ox-eyed, resolute.

Safekeeping of trees—
holding light and memory,
arms full of songbirds.

Pink and yellow gilled,
from the fallen tree it blooms
like forest coral.

Thinking of my dad,
in unknown territory—
he’s still wandering.

Rain on the koi’s heads,
rain on the creamy foxglove—
swimming on this June day.

Rain on the foxglove,
on the koi’s orange heads, fins—
the June day swims by.

The monument bones—
a tree impossibly smooth,
scrubbed by the sand dune.

Long row of aspen,
these fervent bird cherries
blooming, singing wild.

The morning shipwreck,
pulled out of the firmament,
heaved on to dry land.

We aren’t alone—
setting out in the wet grass,
everything alive.

Green-eyed trillium,
only here for a few days,
only seen by us.

Lichen growing gold,
the shape of a butterfly—
on top of this dune.

Voices of birds float
above true forget-me-nots,
yellow buttercup.

The crow sorts things out,
cawing at me and the sun
and I don’t know what.