It is summer here now, And the trees are weaving Their green hats again.

Sunlight dapples the page When the winged leaves move Over a wren’s call and the subsequent silence.

I am meditating on a word, a katydid, Which fell out when you opened A dictionary at random this morning.

…

Since it was in those stridulating pages I sought refuge before, it would appear That I share a preference for things

Heard but not seen, touched but unnamed. Or read but not understood till I am surprised Into summer light, tender green like your irises.

Do you see that leaf over there moving? It could be katydid, i.e., a winged leaf.

Do you know our toes tapping or touching under sheets As a way of listening, is something we share with katydids?

And while I don’t really sing when my hands rub Against yours, when we have kids they will be nymphs!