deserted porch —
crickets continue
our conversation

meditation over . . .
the crickets
still chirping

winding road —
under the influence
of a strawberry moon

tough as we sound
our eyes
on the fireflies

a bowl
full of pear bruises
lingering heat

evening breeze
something close to Mozart
in the chimes

distant stars . . .
poplar fluff drifts
through the dark

dusky lake
fishermen’s voices
sink into darkness

distant thunder
a shadow flickers
on the locked shed

heat wave —
a spider’s thread
across the frying pan