Approach

The dogs are restless.

And so the evening starts.

A hummingbird interrogates

The bee balm, moves on

To the petunias then the snaps

So close I hold out a finger

To see if she will come to me.

She hovers for a moment,

Our eyes, level, meet—

Perhaps, I think, she is thinking—

But we both agree

The pentas are more interesting.

I feel you five hundred miles

Away, arms flailing still

With fight enough to lift

A leaf of close-stemmed larkspur,

A lock across my temple.

The clouds hardly move,

But they are thickening in place,

White gathering gray to close us

Off from heaven. The hawk, too,

Knows you’re coming; he can

Talk of nothing else.

I, on the other hand, have said

My piece. Wait. Watch.

Weather the night.

7/8/2024