home for the weekend
a water lily’s root
trailing out of sight

summer clouds
she talks about death
hypothetically

fishing
where my brother stood —
twilight chill

cicada song
just enough embers
to rekindle the fire

sale pending —
crunched apples scent
the sidewalk

moonflowers —
I weave a wreath
for my sister’s urn

mountain sunset
the mockingbird’s song
unanswered

fallen tree
on the river
I’ve yet to cross

sunrise —
goldenrod
in the first frost

no rain for days —
a half-eaten apple taken away
from the fruit flies