the moonrise makes us yell

lemony yellow butterflies
swirling about the
cornflower purple/blue of chicory petals
that line the roadside
along which i pedal town-wards
sarah leaning over the back of the couch
small notebook in hand
asking if i’ll be her mentor
while bryan and sequoya
shuffle around in the kitchen
to whip up lunch

the virginia license plate
on the maroon truck in the driveway
whose letters read FAIRIE


the scratch of beaks and claws on gutter edge
two storeys up where a pair of
medium sized birds
with grey white bellies
peck and scramble

remembering how javi the other day
said about the forest out west
and the fires he goes that way to fight
every fire season
there’s nothing left to burn
part altar, part calling home
the photo of lisi cat
and all his favorite things
plus a tiny bowl of kibble
and a tiny bowl of water
along with a solar light as candle
set on the back hallway table
how the moonrise makes us yell
from our bikes at each other
orangey and
the kind a fake witch and cut out bat
could be pasted over
sturgeon moon juniper says
as we pause next to the row of haylage
on green acres road
to take it all in