yellow wasps angry buzzing in but rarely back out the kitchen windows
maybe unable to remember it’s only august and wild apples by the dozen still lay strewn along the back garden.
rugosa roses stretch up the stone of this house
where through the last while of the day
sun hits strongest.
sometimes my own fingers search out along those warm textures as if
attempting to discover something they need to know until
I must say thank you right out loud with out even figuring out who to.
in the almost tallest tree, Morgan’s birds wait.
they have time to be patient, preening, cackling, shifting branches
occasionally engaged in soft arguments,
remind me of some vague song until
like a shipwreck in the sky they rise.