II
The coast is rocky and unhurried,
sand settling between the dark places,
light breaking where it wants to.
Summer is still a slow arrival,
daffodil-edged, buttery at the rim,
ebbing out and coming back
the way all good things do.
I'm learning to stay
in the sun as it breaks open,
not asking where it's headed,
just standing in the warm.

I
Yellow catches me off guard,
a weed along the road,
a center line curving somewhere new,
a yield sign that means pause, not stop.
The pines have started blooming,
the trees gave it away first.
I didn't plan for this much color.
I didn't know I needed it.