Slow tide: wild grasses
going gold and dusky pulse
of cricket songs

 

On the downslope of
summer, weathered oaks wading
through yellow light

 

Chip Ross Park, Oregon

 

 

Searing sun, rushing
water . . . the cool stillness of
alder leaf shadows

 

 

Near the fork
of two rambunctious rivers,
this piece of quiet

 

 

From rising darkness
faintly earthward
a feather of light

 

 

 

Blooming

white on heat-hardened hillsides

Summer lace and dust

 

 

 

On the shoulder of

a gravel-hot road, glad glade

of nodding blooms

 

Twinflowers

 

 

 

Fog-drenched morning
Mountain blossoms
like little day-stars

 

 

 

Last night’s moonlight
slips
between boulders

 

 

 

counter-clockwise
made of silk and sky, halo
after halo