Tonight the evening air is dusky

and has a faint smell of smoke

as if someone was stoking their fire

on this warm May night

The slightly bulging half-moon 

beams down yellow 

and sleepy like me 

I seek poetry in the shadows 

and realize the smokiness

is the peppery scent of purple lupins

spicing the dusk with their presence 
   

Lingering in the quiet evening

I take pity on my planter pots

and water my flowers by moonlight

lest in the heat of the day I forget 

A little bath for the basil

a big sip for the tomatoes

and lots—with love—

for my Josephine flower