Summer Snap

Unbidden as grief
the August sun
blazes my shadow

as it outstrips
my pace, running

ahead of me
to show
in stark relief —

like time–lapse
films a bud bursting
into bloom —

our sudden walk
in brevity.

California Canon

In clear Oakland air
across from ripening persimmons
under lemon trees
yellowing in August sun,

I watch white butterflies
hop from hops strung on twine
to hubbard squash fattening like calves
in dappled light, the cedar

above me shaping the shade
as waves shape the bay,
rippling on waters still
flashing all of a sudden fluttered

by two hummingbirds sharing
forever on echeveria gibbiflora
on cosmos on calendula
on pear then airing away

over fences to where
I cannot know, all
that matters flying in silence
and cries of need and hope:

of my newborn grandson
calling out in his prayer
for food and care, as I with him
ask today for what we all require —
our daily bread for tomorrow.