Take my devotion 

Hold it somewhere safe and close

Have it everywhere

 Driving through the night

Across the moonlit desert

Turn off the headlights

 Hoping for a chance

He turns coins in his pocket

Waiting for her glance

The moon our nursemaid

Suckles with her creamy light

Moon milk for our dreams

Softly - thankfully

As you go through the meadow

Thigh-deep in colors

A midsummer field 

Listen to the rustling leaves

The corn is ready

 West clouds turn rosy

The nuthatch goes to its roost

Crickets start their songs

 Through this happy yard

Pass blue jays - squirrels - finches

Green summer breezes

 Sun that gave now takes

The remains are stalks and seeds

What of April now?

 The meadow at noon

Enlaced with yellow and white

Grasshoppers creaking

 If the pines should speak

They would tell of thirst and stress

Of slow fading fate

 Bold and furious

A storm of her own making

Spindrift from her hair

 For what might matter

There is no time without space

With it - not in it

 Savory muddle

The rewarding assortment

Of a dog’s breakfast 

Why is this our choice

More of hawks than harvests

More of force than grace

 The best of aging

Azure sky at eventide

A nostalgic blue

The dream and dreamer

Each a part of the other

Both self-luminous

 The truth of beauty

There is art in the science

Science in the art

 Sudden dreams swam up

Breached the sea - took in the air

Then back to the depths

 When information

Devours water - energy

What is worth knowing?

 Cultivate today

It is an unfurrowed field 

Ready for tilling

The curves will prevail

 Nothing desires to stay straight

All will bend in time

 Gallery of clouds

Painted by the hand of storms

Across waning skies

 He’s a renegade

Tracking mud and breaking glass

Stirring clouds of dust

The evergreen lasts

Shaped by the weight of winters

Lone and resolute

The magic of sleep

 We’re all poets as we dream

When everything’s free

 Those who are content

Those who know when they can stop

Are free to go on

 An incautious bug

Busy with its summer work 

Right into my mouth

 If you should stumble

Take your time and stand slowly

I’ll walk home with you

Always the allure

 The throbbing procreant urge

For generations

 The scent of the dawn

Gnats swarming in the sunlight

Somewhere a hawk cries