my hands at rest
in dishwater . . .
first hummingbird

blossom wind
the sun on my side
of the waves

whelk egg case
my father and my child,
heads just touching

spring rain —
my stone’s circle
lost in the pond

deformed horn
the cattle egrets
gather anyway

the pulse
in a knot of spiderlings
warm breeze

the movement
of clouds between
the hound’s yawns

pond path
bubble eyes
follow my footsteps

a butterfly
wavers in the heat
dead-end road

clover field in bloom
a dent
where the dog was