Delicate, lacey queen
who stands shoulder to shoulder with the commoners and weeds,
gracing flowerbed, roadside and meadow.
Each morning the woodpecker tattoos his message
into the trunk of the crabapple tree
Make yourself known.
Though she is gone, Marje’s morning glories
spend every summer with me through the miracle of seeds.
And as we did, when they come, I will count the blooms.
Peace and contentment
settle in my soul
when the dog snores.
The tree spirits wear bark masks
and leave them behind
for us to remember them by.
The post marries the beam
after a courtship of hand hewing and attention to detail
that seats them perfectly together
forever supporting one another.
First the dream comes
then the vision begins
to be tangible.
Unearthed roots provide an abode for bugs and grubs.
New space for the saplings to grow in is made.
This is the forest’s shooting star.
Some paratrooping spider left his parachute behind
after a dangerous porch landing shortly before dawn.
He will weave another one for his next mission.
Beak like a gum drop, mouth ever open;
always needing and beseeching.
Baby bird, baby bird,
your worm searching mother is tired.
Not even your magnificent camouflage
can obscure your vibrant alive-ness.
The red throated hummingbird
sips from the baby foxglove;
drinking in divinity.
I live in art.
painted my sky.
I admire the bird
who sings a two note song
as if it were a symphony.