June

The sun stays past supper,
Gold bike spokes rest on clovers,
Gold porches
gold fences
And One last-at-bat

“do I have too?”

Sprinklers tick tick
And clean
dusted knees.

Mower rows lie warm and sweet, 
Green sticks to socks and bare, 
wet feet. 

By screen-door light the moths soft-hard.

Night takes the yard.

Then I will dream
Our baby girl
Will see the beauty
like me