These days of half sun,
half cloud at the dawn of summer
when cool drops fall from a blue sky,
the violent spring winds
at last have died.
Sheets hang motionless,
at noon pillowcases merely sway
this Saturday, two more left in December,
running out of things to say.
Aware of a noise
above the vigorous digging of its hole,
el tucutucu climbs to the top, listens,
climbs higher & sees me
working the hose.
northern peaks are lost in fog,
southerns gray & black
like scenes on Chinese vellum scrolls,
Andean gods strike & crackle.
snowmelt acapellas along la acequia,
makes a loop around the pond,
light rain drums on bricks & sand,
a fox barks at the moon.