In drought

what blooms at the dark edge of the forest

a faded red that could also be dropped leaves

the calling cards of drought on a Saturday in mid-July

a monarch butterfly chrysalis falls from the sky

with its golden ellipsis too bitter a pill

for some young bird still learning how to forage

blueberries ripen cracks widen in the moss

the deer’s pelt twitches under an endless assault of flies

as she methodically strips a small spicebush

the sound of a humming- bird’s small engine

skimming the five-spoked wheels of soapwort

rises to a minor roar as he rockets back and forth

over the beebalm patch those alluring scarlet tongues

ready to risk desiccation for a more urgent thirst