Morning at the old wood gate
warblers peck for breakfast
excited cheeps for each
spider in the dead bark
of the mailbox post they find

Sweet pea blossoms
like caramel sugar on the hot
steady breeze off the pond
where the fattest cattails grow

Meadow katydids chatter
while fuzzy bees bump and buzz

Ankle-top hoppers pop
alight on bent-grass
sway there asleep at the tips
until sprung again

I chew wild sorrel while I wait
lemon zest on my tongue
glorious as the day is breaking

Wavy heat
off U.S. 9
along the hill
by Neary’s field

That’s the way you’ll come
with your dad
in his old grain truck

Your head out the window
Ike with his Camels
unfiltered and smoky

He tousles my hair
says I’m a fine young man says
you and Elizabeth have fun

Lately he shakes
a marionette
fly-away arms from the palsy

But he holds me steady
with steel-gray eyes
reflecting sky like fender chrome

Says expect him back around supper time
on the return trip home from Granary

One long wave
all the while he leaves
he smiles in his side-view mirror
beeps twice at the turn, and he’s gone.

The road is quiet
except for the sound
of settled dust
and ancient rock compressing

The summer is ours
and ours are days
of endless morning

Together forever
as if in dreams
we vow

To touch –
never to spoil

Carlos Chagall, 2013