skin
is all I know of me . . .
distant thunder

desert motel . . .
opening the door
to starlight

screened window
the full scent
of jasmine

heirloom roses
she crunches eggshell
into the black loam

beads of rain . . .
raspberries holding on
to summer

near the horizon
a wave forms
touch me there, again

moonflower
a love letter
to Captain Kirk

city alley
the heart of an iris
holding rain

building thunderhead —
the white hydrangea
touched with blue

morning walk
the stranger’s dog
knows my scent