summer speeds past these precious long slow
evenings doing things outside waxing moon
sails among harmless clouds as if everything
were perfectly easy fruit falling off the trees
we do our part tractoring branches of a pear
that grew too big and never bore sharing my
blueberries murdering wasps that wouldn't
let me sweep the porch fiercely swarming
rain in Boulder even as I talked to my dear
friend suffering depression further slowed
by ECT I knew on some level glad I called
hearing voices means we're still ourselves
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