standing in the brook —
painted toenails
lure a turtle

steep trail
a wild rose catches
my breath

idle afternoon . . .
the deepening hole beneath
the woodpecker’s beak

storm lull
freshly crumpled paper
creaks twice

porch swing
the occasional drip
of gathering dew

first phlox
a dewdrop on the tip
of my nose

crevasse
my shadow’s head
disappears

storm clouds roil
across the prairie 
she marks her place

from childhood
the firefly jar —
light hair in it

false dawn
a ruffed grouse drums
the woods awake