Lines for a June heat wave

A half-grown groundhog — “Wait while I get the camera,” I say, & it does.

Recognized by its glide, the first monarch butterfly back from the south.

In the air-conditioned mall, the plastic flowers are safe from the blistering heat.

Drinking from a tap in the base of an old elm, a Penn State squirrel.

I run into someone I first met 17 years ago, in cicada time.

So good, I don’t want to finish it: fresh strawberries sliced into stewed rhubarb.

Inside the package stamped “Royal Mail,” a book of small stones.

Driving the tractor into the woods, mountain laurel blooming above the roar.

Back from mowing, I find a ground beetle trapped in the kitchen sink.

A game in a dream: no one knows the rules, or how to win. I wake to heat lightning.