The Dawn of Summer

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, 

another year 

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. 

By evening 

northern peaks are lost in fog, 

southerns gray & black

like scenes on Chinese vellum scrolls, 

Andean gods strike & crackle. 

Night sounds: 

snowmelt acapellas along la acequia, 

makes a loop around the pond, 

light rain drums on bricks & sand,

a fox barks at the moon.