I’m going to nap until it’s morning there
then send you a dream song
for yoga practice
or tai chi
or just lying still
listening while breathing.

Breathing these breaths.

Or are you here and this dusk is also upon you?

How often are poems written for you?
How often are thoughts given to you?
How often is time evaded with you?

I accidentally recorded four hours and fifty-nine minutes
of southern summer insect sounds
the other night.
Good thing it didn’t rain.
That time that it did
on the canyon’s edge
crouched under blooming rhododendron
you knew then didn’t you?

I’ve always liked the sound
of the word canyon
gorge even more so.

What sounds are you hearing now?

You should send a photo
of where you are.
I mean the place.

I see you clearly
however awkward
without falter.
Thank you.