I step from my bath, let the day carry me
on its shoulders. My focus falls
on moonflowers twining the rail,
petals wrapped like silk kimonos,
luminescence obscured, eyes tight
against the sun. Across the field
a whole herd of sunflowers, boldly tip,
face all in the same direction.
I read my poem to a hummingbird,
formal in morning coat, emerald cap,
scarlet ascot – sipping from rose hibiscus
as though from a champagne flute.
My dogs have heard the poem before,
are distracted,
chasing nose-to-ground after rabbits
who visited while they slept.
I read to geckos who bask in words
as they do in sunshine,
soak up poetry and vitamin D.
I read to watermelons, fat and pregnant
with slick black seeds,
to rosemary diffusing sweet scent
with flagrant disregard for zucchini
who have over-produced again.
I make a note to leave a peck,
a bushel, for neighbors,
with, perhaps, a copy of my poem.
They’ve already marked me eccentric.
