Poem Category: All

tent rains…
my hour of cards
in solitaire

we fished
right up to supper…
the campfire pan

heads up…
wildflowers
in the first rain drops

sunflowers in rain
the weeds I threw
onto the path

squawking in turns
at the sand storm
gulls in a circle

in mists…
the voices our bathroom has
for her songs

oil paints…
the bowl of fruits
before it corrupts

harvest town
early breakfasts for us
have a purpose

demolition
a bob-cat still in the bedroom
this morning

night breeze
a sunflower sweeps
against the brick wall