half a moon
waxes gibbous
in the full glare
of a parching sun,

Pacific madrones
in the season of
exfoliation
renew their skins
leaving
fresh, medicinal
excelsior,

bush tits flit
and glean manzanitas
for their tiny insect life
on the coastal mountain,

a flash of blue,
a scrub jay
darts into and through
branches
along the very edge —

what portion of
my life he wondered
have I managed to
stand up straight?