lobelia blossoms
half the bees
still asleep
singing softly
to herself
first juncos
muscular
goose wings
the September air
just one home
in my dreams . . .
mountain laurel
almost breaking
a vow of silence
first snow
as old as I
the mirror
desilvering
the lee side
of a wreck
beach roses
behind the dispensary
wild violets
in the uncut grass
quiet conversations
dusk turns on
a streetlight
comfortable
in my own skin
eating a warm plum