sunset gold

under umbrellas a buzzing phone​

ghost pipes

sweating through the longest day of the year​

first heat wave

a black bear’s clawprints 
in the mud

bend in the road

an indigo bunting
dries his wings

dancing flames

a ruby-throated hummingbird here and gone​

dancing flames

a ruby-throated hummingbird here and gone​

night barn

a field sparrow singing
in his sleep

Memorial Day

a red squirrel raging 
above the grave

Jupiter and Mars

almost touching 
the whippoorwill

millipede

fear spiralling 
in my hand

In black cherry time

This is what happens as soon as I stop walking, my daily habit: I become habitat.

rain crow

when did the back of my hand 
turn strange?