Fish we didn’t catch
swam in their own fishdom; far
from our eyes they reigned.

Two police cars
in dawn’s light.
I say hello
to a sparrow
on a stop sign.

Three pine trees outside
the senior’s home—tall, straight, strong,
shade their memories

Yellow hair, pink shoes
she sails through the parking lot.
Old man counts his change.

High above the roof
I hear the lone wind mutter
six lean crows take flight

For years we have walked
across the wetlands, gazing,
pink slippers on toads

Reaching from my bike
I tugged a branch
that held the city suspended
long enough for twilight
to descend

I stand, gaze at clouds,
forget what comes next; then walk
home wearing the sky

Startled by the policeman
saying hello, I drop
the morning light
I’ve stolen

Slug of spruce gum cut
from a tree, taste in my mouth
since childhood ended