late summer —
blue jays not answering
a crow

hay baler 
in its wake, a swathe
of cricket song

crickets droning
the tennis ball covered
with slobber

distant stadium cheers:
a black branch releases
a drop of dew

morning sun
field too small
for the horse’s shadow

dusk —
father and son
scything the meadow

cool dusk
our hands busy husking
fresh corn

warm night —
a soda machine rejects
my coin

bedtime —
fruit flies linger
after the fruit

end of summer
only a breeze
in the butterfly net