snapped apart
in a winter moment –
hemlock

cold moon rising –
birdseed frozen to the feeder
all settle for less

falling sleet –
winter stagnates between houses
we sleep longer

chicory
praying through

chain-link fence
light falling

long
behind the pines

and geese overhead
saying farewell –

oh wildflower fields
oh goldenrod

thistle and lace
I will always remember

the long notes
of summer

October
dawn no longer enters
like a bird through the door –
her light slips as white linen
on the balsam breeze

song light of evening
shadowed pines
last of day falling
over shoulders –
this body a ground
this season a sea
from the mouths of rivers
hymns from the New Earth

lifted teacup
this steam warming
tired eyes

pines cradle
feathered catcalls
and whispered wind

summer rising
is me stumbling
towards home

raven tulips
tipped with raindrops
slowly opening into the silence
of belonging –
how we are never not here
together

dogwood blossoms
making haste between growing
whispers of rain –

this sway and fetch
this freedom and fall

rivulets of life
flood the cistern of longing
and me, all out of words

moonlight sonata
stilled in immaculate bells –
Lily of the Valley

violets and clover
covered by a fallen mist
of dogwood blooms –
what is scattered
finally grows

Ending April

lightening at dawn
releasing shapes
of another day

a train's sorrow
cuts through rain
in a minor key

if I am
no longer tortured
what gift is this storm?

Wish I May

arc of day
behind me now
tulips dozing and seeds
growing in the dark –
make a wish on the star
named Nothing

Inherit the Earth

soft refrains
after morning's hard frost
bright signals from lofting birds
measure home and deliver psalms
of love and forget-me-nots

dill fronds sway
tickling my summer thighs —
am I home or departed

at dawn
I am intimate
with Spring –

branches
praising light
in solitary prayer

undoing 1,000 miles
of emptiness and
watery dreams of ruin

vampire winds
and drumming rain
making the wooden deck slick
with winter's plea
to stay

full day's rain
whispering to empty fields –
this Lenten obsession
to die and rise
again

listening

winter's garret
tombs of snow and ice
holding the whispers
of our fireflies –
all the ones we let go

cobwebs breathing
into rough cedar eaves
and slanted sunlight making
its way further into dusted corners –
naked winter air still dancing
whispers, come again?