Perhaps August Doesn’t Know

baking a moment dot com

The humidity drowns out flowers,
the gem birds, the jewel songs – gone,
steamed vegetables – still growing,

Perhaps August has forgotten how
we suffer – breathing in the hot rain,
our garments sticking to their battles,

Then there’s a B&B in New Hampshire
that measures the temperature in
steaming cheddar biscuits eaten in A/C,

And at night, there is a down comforter
for each guest, and the hot water bill
goes through the roof every summer.

Perhaps August doesn’t know it’s winter
at Barthe & Bramble B&B, maybe we
just might stay ’til the leaves,

‘Til the first frost, when it’s safe
to come out, maybe we move in, maybe
we make ’em all three dog nights – this
summer’s end, this bubbling peach
cobbler season.






crocuses flowers spring

It summers here
my early spring
when you hold me

and you’ve wanted
the flowers in winter
I’ll be

you’ve wanted the
new green music

because you’ve been
looking a long time
and finally found

your spring.


if only

autumn photo of leaves

if winter was some other
summer than white, and spring
wasn’t rushed into its good-byes,

if the ocean was some other
Great Lake, and the garden grew
forgetful until harvesting,

how I would make of my lifetime
an autumn season where finding
you was some other seeking than