She tossed jacks into the air, watched them
Fall on the sidewalk like Texas prairie lightning
Now a dancer in turquoise and white
A Laurencia jump, toes stretched in the air
Sunset tea, plum trees
A meandering river flows close by
What’s real is there, fixed deeply
At home, in our garden
Butterflies, singing birds, ripe plums from the tree
Dancing with you, wanting to sing as the birds
But ashamed of my voice. Who might hear it
I will hunt deer soon
Still and quiet, with my bow
Nature will shout in purple and green
But my wife’s parasol will float above
In a circle around me
I will aim and loose the bowstring
The tender deer will die in the woods
Its blood will spill like a small river
Through the forest leaves