sagging cedar rail . . .
wind works its way
through the bluestem

gathering heat —
my throat
no longer firm

deadlines . . .
an ice cream truck’s song
in the distance

Gettysburg
traffic backed up
to the interstate

campfire circle
      a friend’s back
leans against mine

above the cries of
"hey, batter, batter"
a meadowlark

songwriter’s lunchbreak —
a dishrag muffles
the windchimes

swelter
a cat watches traffic
from the long grass

summer grasses
the Lakota sings
of a white buffalo

first firefly
my wife and I share
our fortunes