Drunk on grass,
the dog rolls
in clippings,
kicks them up—
fall back to
her belly.

*

As if submerged in water,
insects’ dusk-buzz all around.
Beyond that,
aimless propeller.

The thought of rain,
the gray and pink
thickness-sky,
belly of brook trout,
bevy of outliers and oversights.

*

The faintness of any
pre-dusk half-moon
will fade
as night rises.

*

In the first quarter,
what is light grows;
in the last,
what is dark.