The sprinklers dance a delicate ballet,
Their pirouette a welcome twirl of water streams
That lisp when they spray: Jeté, jeté, jeté.
Fireworks impatiently crackle in the middle
Distance, the rooftop mockingbird whistles
A nocturne to usher out the parting day.
The moon hangs in the southwest quadrant
Of the sky like a slice of tangerine, waiting
For your hand to pluck and pop it
In your mouth, bursting on the palette
Firm and sweet, atingle, leaving its
Pale stain of flavor, a welcome finish
To your day as you make room
For the arrival of tangerine-scented night.