Clouds in the river,
all of our words disappear
and go to nothing.

Swans float in the sky
over the September field,
the grass labyrinth.

The sky telling me
that September is coming,
I must change again.

Just the sound of bees
doing what they love on earth,
keeping us alive.

The ecstatic clouds,
the ecstatic dune grasses,
meet well in the sky.

Pink sky at daybreak,
a song sparrow lives nearby
and sings all day long.

The loops and chatters—
sky and trees full of Robins,
we enter their woods.

Mackerel skies all day,
like a sheet of paper, drawn
steadfast, defiant.

Blue valley of sky
above the humming forest—
and our lives today.

Dark October clouds
during our afternoon walk—
wild carrot still blooms.

How to save this bird?
Every dark cloud after us,
danger everywhere.

Big October skies
breaking apart every day,
and rearranging.

The luck in the sky—
unraveling with blue light,
breaking with the day.

Crickets at their peak—
the making and unmaking
of the summer sky.

My mind is still dark,
night stretches into morning—
the room blooms with sun.

Skies over beehives,
warm friends keep forty thousand
tucked in goldenrod.

August skies fall in,
pulling all the wildflowers—
faces always up.

I say to myself,
I say to everyone:
see this, don't forget.

Moon in the morning,
not thrown there in a folk tale,
not made by our hands.

Thinking of my dad,
in unknown territory—
he’s still wandering.