In this protracted dry heat the birds hop
about, their thin beaks open, panting.
The Cooper’s hawk flies down, perches
on my neighbor’s low roof and stands
with wings spread open drooping like a tent.
The stream that runs along my yard is dry and dusty
so I’ve put a dish of water out, a makeshift birdbath
though I’ve not seen any bird using it.
We are to expect no relief any time soon
just the welcome setting of the sun each evening
and the rise of the perfect moon untouched
by the vagaries of weather here on Earth.