while the oak leaves shake

the loud rumbling purrs
of lisi-cat who finally came back
(after four days of mystery away-ness)
in the dark
at the bedside

clarinet, maybe violin
could be live but more likely a recording
drifting across the street and onto the porch
while the oak leaves shake in the wind
and someone over on main street
revs their engine forward

the porch swing
no one in it
while the cicadas cicada
and the crickets cricket-cricket


the dash of fall in the air
moving over the parts of my neck
not covered by collar or kerchief
where, just two weeks ago, there was
the sicksweet scent of lilies opened
to the sun, now there are bunches
of bright purple-pink
phlox flowers in bloom

two moths
flutter-dancing their way
down the road
at second-storey height
lisi walking with us
down to the mailbox
and down to the garden
and back up again