moonbeams —
the thin legs
of a new frog

frog song . . .
a bromeliad
gathers rain

scenic viewpoint —
a kite string leads down
to the ice cream van

sunglare
the rasp as my clam rake
uncovers tin cans

tea-colored creek —
live salmon make their way
past the dead

willow shadows
the drip of water
from a moose’s chin

mockingbird . . .
not a hint
of this record high

the wave turning back —
the deep blue
of the seashell

up from the harbor
fish smells follow
the donkey trail

midsummer stream
a grackle dips its beak
in shimmer