childless . . .
I stand with the others
by the river

organic garden
a cactus wren
probes for grubs

poking flowerpots
to see if they need water — 
her faded house dress

dust motes . . .
a careful sweep
around the cat

june bugs
under the street lamp
our goodnight kiss

dry riverbed — 
a new kind
of silence

a bird sings
on my clothes line — 
I can wait

an armful of lilies
in the fullness of summer
an urn full of ash

more gray in my hair — 
a faint scent of mimosa
sweetens the breeze

muggy night
the child’s breathing turns
a paper moon