Independence Day—
 
a small boy’s firecracker stash
 
dwindles bang by flash.

 
 
 

on the patio
 
blooming in a bright-blue pot—
 
yellow nasturtiums

 
 
 

In my summer dream
 
I seem to be a willow
 
growing by a stream.

 
 
 

A new month unfurls,
 
but no new morning glories
 
unfurl on my fence.

 
 
 

Ha, marauding birds!
 
I’ve picked all the apricots—
 
nothing’s left for you.

 
 
 

Only in a dream
 
does rain refresh my garden—
 
summer’s drought deepens.

 
 
 

Summer morning walk—
 
I smile at yellow dahlias
 
in a stranger’s yard.

 
 
 

pilgrim at midnight
 
worrying rosary beads
 
till the first bird sings

 

 
 
 

Sizzling summer day—
 
my old, arthritic tabby
 
snoozes in the sun.

 

 
 
 

California drought—
 
I dream of clear, cold water
 
seeping from a spring.