Always

Next to her I sit,

Where I cannot refrain

From touching 

These slender white

Wrists, like two tiny birds

Bathing in sun sheen, singing

Pure joy

In the birch trees

Shimmering green

Always

Above us. 

  Watering In Verse

Some days before the sizzle

picks up steam and your

thermometer bulges

like weight lifters on steroids,

yes, these early mornings of cool

breezes and quiet streets is exactly

when the best poetry is not

a bundle of evocative words

on the page but rather 

as simple as turning on

this water spigot to fill

the brown jug, then soaking

your recently planted thirsty

bushes dancing in soft air,

whispering beauty 

across the driveway

to no one and to everyone,

their small smiling purple flowers

the sweetest verse you’ve 

read in months.