I watch my grandson
 
watching a raven strutting
 
on an autumn fence.

 
 

Foxgloves near the fence,
 
no one warned me in advance
 
that you’d sing to me.

 
 
 

Though their clothes are soaked,
 
the fence builders keep working
 
in the freezing rain.

 
 
 

Autumn afternoon—
 
my neighbor’s cigarette smoke
 
drifts across my fence.

 
 
 

Summer afternoon—
 
on a weathered wooden fence
 
a dove leaves its song.

 
 
 

the soothing music
 
of wind chimes beyond my fence
 
and a barking dog

 
 
 

A crack in the fence—
 
I can see the grass has died
 
in my neighbor’s yard.

 
 
 

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

 
 
 

While painting the fence,
 
I hear some children laughing
 
on the other side.

 
 
 

On a sagging fence
 
a dove calls out a greeting
 
to the morning light.