what blooms at the dark
edge of the forest
a faded red that could also
be dropped leaves
the calling cards of drought
on a Saturday in mid-July
a monarch butterfly chrysalis
falls from the sky
with its golden ellipsis
too bitter a pill
for some young bird
still learning how to forage
blueberries ripen
cracks widen in the moss
the deer’s pelt twitches
under an endless assault of flies
as she methodically strips
a small spicebush
the sound of a humming-
bird’s small engine
skimming the five-spoked
wheels of soapwort
rises to a minor roar as he
rockets back and forth
over the beebalm patch
those alluring scarlet tongues
ready to risk desiccation
for a more urgent thirst