Grand Canyon
all I know
I don’t know

Vedic chants . . .
a heron glides to a rock
in the misty lake

high-tension wires
hum above the prairie . . .
a few drifting clouds

the smell
of a crushed beetle
things that don’t change

midlife . . .
my car radio
on scan

morning lotus —
the pool umbrellas
still closed

into the sun
where eyes can’t follow
a red tailed hawk

drought
the prayers she knows
by heart

farmer’s market —
an earwig burrows
into the pennies

broken clouds —
he rearranges
the squirrel shield