Probability

What is it

that makes my aging dog slow

to a dead stop

beneath the pine struck by lightning

when the gray sky is thundering,

admittedly, distantly?

I do not believe

that lightning never strikes twice

in the same place:

I am 5 foot 7 –

the frizzled pine many me’s higher,

jutting above all the others.

Its Medusan branches

sprawl enticingly to lure lightning

down its crackled trunk

out through roots

linked to where I stand rooted

to an oblivious dog.

July

To morning cool

the frogs arise

to warm on stones

under sunny skies.

Butterflies flourish

and fly to blooms

till delicate moths

flutter under the moon.

Fireflies, night birds,

stealthy snails

follow their summer’s

mysterious trails

till morning’s mists

chill damp to jewels

and tickle the noses 

of rabbits with dew.

Might Not Meditate

Five chimes to tame the wind

sing the wind's own rhythm.

Four sparrows flute fine trills,

floating notes up over the hill.

Three crows' jarring caws

chop and stop the harmony.

To shatter the last of lost serenity,

rattling traffic clatters along

one ~ bumpy ~ road.