A mist lightens green
summer trees, haunting the park,
silently as ghosts.

A soundless stillness
lurks over the morning fog
heavier than air.

A pale half moon floats
in a bruised blue sky mottled
with clouds that hint rain.

Evening rains have left
a brilliant, jungle green in
place of yellow veldt.

Vines with white flowers
crawl through my fence old boards with
gentle persistance.

Fireflies conjure
the memories of summers
that make my heart cry.

"Let's go", said Holden,
"Why not", replied Warren Oates-
The Wild Bunch kicks ass!!!

Soft, hazy twilight
comes earlier now - warning
summer, live it up.

Cicada humming
fills the air with sweaty song
as evening desends.

A single yellow
lily blooms among the dead stems,
laughing at the sun.

Softly sighing trees
alive with the kiss of rain
and full-blown summer.

The liles are dead;
dried amber stalks in the sun
hold wrinkled orange.

buzzing late summer
with its twilight white noise hum
alive in hot sound.

The grass is burned crisp
in most places, thirsty for
even my dog's pee.

Air too thin to breathe
but clear enough to glimpse all
of the endless fall.

Chunks of glacier sit
looming on the bare slopes of rock
laughing at the sun.

Panting on the couch,
my dog's tounge droops with the heat
of an evening walk.

A house with a stream
running under the windows -
that would be heaven.

Awakened to squriels
racing on the lawn; they have
returned to my trees.

Just because they say
they'll call, doesn't mean they will-
surely you know that.

What are the purple
flowers waving on thin stalks
along the highway?

Laying on my back
in soft grass and black night, I
talk to the full moon.

Muggy morning winds
blow bluejays out of waxy
green trees, looking pissed.

Eight twenty one and
orange sunset fills waxy
green leaves with twilight.

Light falls on dog hair
showing a fine mist over
my entire life.

Clouds have taken
the sting out of the sunshine
helping ease my sight.

A blur of heatwaves
distorts the field and highway
that shoots past my car.

The yellow lilies
burst forth with such brightness
to burn like hot stars.

Alone in the haze
of the overcast summer
afternoon, I sleep.

Like a giant sponge,
the woods surround my footsteps
soaking up sound.

Fleas, you little pricks,
you've invaded my couch and
bitte me half raw.