June

The breeze is full of cold water

straight from the Sound.

There’s s concentric ring

around the sun.

Ice crystals make a faded rainbow

The sun makes a mark on the red umbrella.

The girls are away

making their way

away from me.

This always feels good.

I am satisfied knowing

they are off being capable.

When they need me—

when they need to lean into me

I worry too much—

worry about their capability

forgetting we all need

people to lean into.

This ease I wish for them—

I know ease is infrequent and hard-won.

The peonies rest on the dry dirt,

spent in the June light.

 

 

 

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