The first-quarter moon
 
shines through my kitchen window—
 
every dish lights up.

 
 
 

Labor Day weekend—
 
when no one’s watching, the cat
 
eats from the dog’s dish.

 
 
 

Midwinter morning—
 
the last stubborn oak leaf drops
 
into the dog’s dish.

 
 
 

Just after daybreak
 
two marauding crows swoop down
 
on the dog’s food dish.

Skin

 
 
 

Deepening autumn—
 
the water in the dog dish
 
wears a skin of ice.

Applesauce

 
 
 

spooning applesauce
 
into a shallow glass dish
 
from the mason jar