you are made of the same substance as a lioness,
i once heard someone say.
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fireworks
two spires of light
chase upward into the darkness
then evanescence into the night;
all hangs still.
already too late
the ground on which we stand
is sometimes so uncertain —
explode
under cover of darkness
one of the neighbors
is declaring his independence
from the city ordinance that says
“fireworks are illegal.”
bindweed
the field behind the house
is white with wild morning glory,
a false friend better known as bindweed.
idioma
idioms might be my favorite assignment.
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waiting room
smack, pop,
squelch, crack,
pop, pop, snuffle,
smack!
could the old man
chew his gum
any louder?
osage orange
the old osage orange hedge
still marches perpendicular to the road
marking the boundary line of a farmstead
long since swallowed up by atomic age homes.
the only lights left
for a moment i looked out the window and caught
the evening sun painting the neighbor’s wood pile gold
while indoors the shadows drew nearer and deepened
midsummer
this will not do justice
to the white crescent of moon
glowing in the blue twilight,
nor bright venus shining
through the humid haze