sleet melting in the Beltane sun

fringed polygala

4/20

the way day-old leaves prepare for flight

not as bright as my phone

full moon

this longing

to hit the road
goldenrod

toadstools

let me put on
my rain hat

morning fog

woken by a text
about birds

where the oak

split off from its lost half open mouthed

hot hike

wearing my halo 
of poison

storm cellar

one last Mason jar
of white lightning

hot tub

laid bare in the woods a junkie’s pale face​

sunset gold

under umbrellas a buzzing phone​

ghost pipes

sweating through the longest day of the year​