Labor Day weekend—
 
an old man longs for his son,
 
last seen years ago.

 
 
 

Labor Day weekend—
 
the homeless man keeps weeping
 
for his missing dog.

 
 
 

Late summer morning—
 
her honey-do list lengthens
 
with each sip of tea.

 
 
 

Yesterday’s teacup
 
still sits in the kitchen sink,
 
waiting to be washed.

 
 
 

red geraniums
 
in pots beneath my window—
 
summer’s last hurrah

 
 
 

Late summer evening—
 
the homeward path is narrow,
 
but my steps are sure.

 
 
 

Summer afternoon—
 
a birdbath without water
 
still attracts a crow.

 
 
 

Overcast morning—
 
a crow on the backyard fence
 
blends in with the fog.

 
 
 

Summer thunderstorm—
 
children launch their paper boats
 
down the flooded street.

 
 
 

Languid afternoon—
 
near the steaming compost heap
 
a dove leaves her song.