Serious Moonlight

on the lush green strip

under serious moonlight

the thin white duke

of the weeping birch shimmies,

croons into a street lamp

the dog, all this time

on a serious snout cruise,

looks up, sees a thin

white wafer in the branches,

waits for the hand that feeds it

twilight . . .

and still the ants scurry.

emergency crew

rushing across the tarmac

just after the plane crashes

four pontoon legs splayed

and two oar-like legs to row:

no wasted effort,

water striders merely twitch

to get to where they want to go

(for Karen Hofmann)

waiting for hired help —

these new fence posts

like legionnaires

back in their foxholes

lean into each others’ lies

water pressure down,

whirling dervish sprinkler

suddenly a shaman

shaking shakere water

drops on the earth

no carp in the pond?

the pretty tour guide explains

gulls eat all the fish

then poop all over the rocks.

ah! the old turtle smiles too

“As is” ginkgo —

meaning if it dies, oh well,

Canadian Tire

is not responsible

for the eons it’s survived

bilobal leaves —

God’s catcher’s mitt

for the sun’s high fly,

or a green butterfly ruse?

ginkgo’s leaves circle the trunk

distant raucous jay,

what more can you add

to dachshund’s grudging woof?

he can’t see you, poor thing;

nor, he knows, can I

dachshund watches wasp

fly a horizontal course

past his pointed snout.

he hesitates to give chase

though his haunches quiver so

dog run path’s deep ruts —

retriever and dachshund stop

every few feet

to read The Piss and Scat

Leader Post

with my glasses off

the lamplight is a glowing

dandelion clock!

twenty-three years together,

we step gently off the curb

park bench —

broken pill bottles, butts,

beer can ring;

bench donated by

the Kiwanis Club

“God is Love,”

the cliff paint says —

no petroglyphs,

only the rock shapes

of falling buffalo

(Lundbreck Falls, Alberta)

geraniums blaze

against the dying light

while cosmos sputter,

drop a petal, waiting for

the last butterfly to land

inside, wanting out,

a ladybug putts about

the double-glazed glass,

crosses whole skeins

of thinning cirrus cloud

lamplight dimmer now,

heat waves more visible

than the twin mantles’ glow,

but my front yard lamp still burns

this cool, blustery morning

taking off my clothes,

washing up, doing my teeth

by bedside lamplight,

I see the younger woman

you once were smile in her sleep