Cusp Runneth Over

She caught the last of summer

by the sleeve, granddaughter born

two days before the Fall change.

 

Easy to predict strawberries

and melons, both parents are gardeners,

the dirt will turn up.

Newest human I ever met

forty five minutes in,

pounds, ounces, inches, stretch our hearts.

The light in her eyes

lights the room, lighting

the world, starts tomorrow.

Lunar Tick Tock

The moon, patrolling a sky
to itself, silenced the highway
dwarfing our house and the hidden
ocean, waves through an open window.

A white light on the white cosmos
moth still and breathing the sea
arcs the flower petals with that same
moon singing like a still bird
-an anti-rooster.

These dark as a lark hours flash
stuck numerals as the power comes
and goes through the kitchen clock.
Two nights now I've danced like a stick, not a conductor's baton,
just wood remembering wild.

Sleep spells it one way, a waking dream quite another, this time
of fingers talking and some letters
fitting like buttons, while others, like loons indifferent, ride the reflective surf.

There's a kiss in all of this,
a night curl, a heat to the cool
pillow, a thing cats know across
a shadowed floor. There's so much
we miss when we miss each other.