these coneflowers really project.
ones got a skipper on it. damselfly
with a glowy blue tip for a tail
opts for golden tickseed. the pecans
are getting on; they shade dry alfalfa.

raspberries so bright the field bleeds,
yet the fragrance is garlic. all the bulbs
ghost faces slightly lean. you were the
one with presentiments.

i smile to see groundcherries hang
like little lanterns to light the way for
grasshoppers, who will soon be coming.

where will they come from? i wonder,
noticing a young buck with some branch
in his mouth. he bounds from mallow to
leap the glade with his prize. two short
horns, one i suppose for either half
of my heart.

a cottonwood i never noticed –
i want to see it when it yellows out.
perhaps someone could take your
portrait by a rivers mouth, watering
despite itself.

Bree aka zlee zlee