reaching
where the hose won’t —
summer rain

slow night
the flycatcher sizzles
over the door

a squeeze of the hand
and we stand among them —
croaking toads

the August hayfield
raked into windrows —
a dipper of water

drawing a heart
the wet sand
between my fingers

sultry evening
the pizza receipt clings
to a beer bottle

moonlit pond . . .
he lifts his child above
the threat of frogs

adobe wall —
a row of pots
fill with light

summer grasses
a golden fuzz
on the blowfly’s belly

fireflies . . .
the dreams I had
as a child