Drought cracks the Earth
On hot days I miss you as you
work in dirt of our garden. I
work from before the sunrise
at a desk with glimmering images.
Virtual images in two dimensions
while my third, you, carfully
harvest the carrots in our backyard.
Summer moves to fall, and I fail
to find the red tomatoes on the vine.
Best, they say, to pick them green
and let the brown bag ripen them.
You work by playing with our son,
the two of you sing. Peppers continue
to get big, and I punch out.
Soon, I join the singing.