suddenly at three o'clock

sheets hung on a clothes line
tethered, tucked
drying
rippling
in this august breeze
grasp the corners
bring to your nose
inhale
this fresh-linen-sunshine
inhale
all that is held there
eyes close -- moment held  
perfection found
fresh summertime
ice tea on the back step
dog barks
sounds of children around the corner
breeze rising to the top of the hackberry tree
grass under feet bare
grasp the corners
one, two, three ....
three minutes of this moment

grasp the perfect corners

defining time with color in August . .

I was made to paint this porch

shades of gray & turquoise
melt in the summer heat
trimming in 

beadboard to panes
sweat
and
breath
and
brush stroke
the rhythm moves to the sound of sunshine
as blood & decision pump
in my heart

under skin
hot 

August hot 

sweat at the back of my neck feels like
time turning back
stilling the days
drenched in lucky 

I was made to paint this porch

Sturgeon Moon

storms of earth
and
blue-heron seekers
what fractal fragility lies under
this sultry haze of August nights
here on the prairie grass
where
softness
drips
from thunder
and
the dust of bees
dreams rise from
fire
ice
and
the dance of the moonshine warriors, peacemakers
and
beekeepers
we paint ourselves naked
and
frolic with the monkey-wrenching tight-rope walkers
shifting into love activists
thick & plush in woolen kilts
mighty our rose tongues
and sharp the bite
with softness
secretly tucked
between the blood folds
and
below freckled skin imprinted by sailing ships
and ink trails
replete with sorrow

sorrow

buoyant and lucky
the cursed ones
squeeze that misshapen fractal along the palm-heart-line
and tender it's story
with a circle of stones
and
wild birds