Corn on the cob, new sweet potatoes,
okra, tomatoes, dinner
from the farm.
At dusk, the sun still skims the
tops of the oaks.
Down here in my
yard, fireflies
flicker in the
shadows.
Corn on the cob, new sweet potatoes,
okra, tomatoes, dinner
from the farm.
At dusk, the sun still skims the
tops of the oaks.
Down here in my
yard, fireflies
flicker in the
shadows.
The sun has almost
moved beyond the
tree tops. Fireworks
explode down the
street.
Cars going past and
in the gloom of my
yard at dusk, the
fireflies begin to
flicker. Soon the
cicadas will join
them.
Explosions of fireworks, sun
still touching the tops of the trees.
In my wild yard, fireflies
flicker. Dinner’s done.
Refrigerator waiting to be
cleaned.
October butterflies
rest in my yard,
riding East winds
to Mexico. If we were
only butterflies
or dust.
“Once More we come like dust dance in air…” Rumi
Sahara dust blows dry, flows
west over the Atlantic
drops to feed
plankton and mix with the
Ancestors bones.
Turns the evening sky red over
Puerto Rico, fertilizes the
Amazon.
The spider web
stretches
between bush and gum tree.
Up and down, in sight and out,
the sun slides a silent
tune in the breeze.
Wet Magnolias.
Rain falling in big
drops on the car.
If we could just
turn it on the side
and let the rain wash
it clean.
I open the window.
Candles reflected like
a lantern in the rain.
Green and grey, dark
rainy morning. Leaves
shiver. Behind the hedge
cars swoosh by unseen. Rain
falling from the roof,
a waterfall.
Dripping rain. Rumbles of
thunder. Birds calling
good-night in the golden
evening.