a single bubble
after the beaver dives
the rising moon

the gardener
and his scarecrow
the same hat

crows swagger
down the middle of the road
summer’s end

starting school tomorrow —
    he talks to trees
    at the woods’ edge

Labor Day
a spot of barbecue sauce
on the face of my watch

summer’s end
two flies fighting
over me

old blue car —
the ease
of summer’s last days

a still, starry night —
      train tracks
            wet with dew

scudding clouds
the snake as long
as my sleeve

stump speech —
this black and white butterfly
in none of the field guides