Christina Lloyd
Measures of Summer
I.
We wait by the mucky green water until bat rays
arrive, unsettling the harbour silt with their wings.
You gush about their pale, supple lobe-like snouts
and barbed tails as I try to make out their shadowy
moves before they vanish from view.
II.
Two quail grace a fence at Abbotts Lagoon—
their mottled breasts intriguing as OpArt. A boy
disturbs a heron into flight. We look out for
otters but don’t see them. Instead, we identify
deer weed, pickleweed, purple owl clover.
III.
My upstairs neighbour’s Labrador barks and wakes me.
Its electric shock collar vibrates and sounds off.
To escape the distress, I cross the Golden Gate Bridge
to get to Mill Valley, where jasmine scents the air
and redwoods flank a posh, unruffled downtown.
IV.
Oak and bay trees line parched creek beds and offer
us shade. Since it’s dry season, the waterfall’s a trickle.
Tadpoles dart across the sun-shrunk plunge pool.
Western fence lizards rustle the underbrush while
warblers, dark-eyed juncos trill overhead.