Dear Ones—solstice, and cool, rain off and on
on the green leafy canopies rising through the depths
of our canted back yard—locusts and walnuts, pine
and cherry, dogwood and the young bur oak
we planted for future centuries, an ocean of phlox;
leaves in all the shades of green, gray, chartreuse
and teal texture the world, and I’m searching the view
for rainbow when suddenly, I’m staring into the ruby
throat and emerald head of a hummingbird—smallest
patch of brilliance in all that sweep of eaten light—
and then his shining mate—oh, brief, indelible sight!
And the goldfinch, next morning, feeder-perched,
like nothing else in the greening world—except, perhaps,
at night, the fireflies calling to each other silently,
their stuttered codes flashing in the blackness of the sky.