The trees mention themselves
in the wind, with the crickets,
warm, small sounds and veins
of leaves full, and the ground cooling.
The living room is dark,
and the house has no lemons.

When a quiet time passes
and trouble starts 
again, you say now 
things are happening, 
things are really 
moving now.  
So dry and such sand,
such suspicion
in your heart,
but with your mouth
you say, now 
we are getting somewhere.

Inside, 
it is dark,
and outside the koi pond
has yet to be dug,
but maybe
the trouble that's coming
will dig it in another yard.