I have never seen
a more perfect partner
than the second sky in the millpond
and the leaping sparrow
that arabesques through dimensions
to promenade and flirt
across the shining ballroom floor


June afternoons

I love June afternoons—when clover blooms
and thistle thorns swirl like Starry Night
as the sun beating down melts a Van Gogh
lens over the pastoral in my front yard,
and the shaded greens of hardwood
cathedrals drift longer, leading
me into the places and times without sunlight until
(I don’t know what time it is)
I miss dinner in favor of the stinging
blackberries of dusk leaving
blood-red stains on my arms
and I love June nights