shadows of me
over blue moon
snow –
maybe I can love
Christmas again

day snow
cardinals as meteors
crossing winter murals
melodies
binding the last
memories

sound of snow
like library dust
saying what I think

elongated night
starlight laughing
undercover

suddenly white wind –
distant lights disappear
December arrives

cardinals
against pine and snow –
dialogue of empty cages

jarred peaches
November sunset sinking
how cold this is

leaves
let go – lift – fall
long night gathering
in the east
this war

who overhears
my breath
in clear midnight

who is dreaming
the owl
or me

on every pebble

pressing into pain
bruising sky
and once-blue eyes
opening to distance

I scrub the fry pan
wipe what is wasted
from the sink and recognize
this life as it is

tinged with evergreens
and winter moons
but mostly
a simple path

country all its own
with the maps engraved
on every pebble
we pocket

rutted road
moving into familiar
distance
cut hay
quietly tucked
for winter
how beautiful
this cold ache
as winter paws
what’s left

november lips

this season of dying
jackets for shoulders
and clavicles –
my breasts as sourdough
loaves covered overnight
November lips to hot
cider and then
nothing

blue highways
running east or west
into childhood –
sing the old songs
because we are dying

harvest

my bed
a thrashing series
of sickled shadows –
we almost felt golden
wheat on our palms

Dreaming You

November folds
glacial hands to prayer –
in a dream I climb
a ladder leading
above hay

rusting

do we spill
like water or are we
rust –
this port a heaven
of daylight at the door

old grooves
in the dirt road
are the new trails
for who we are –
come morning we walk
as saints

this weathered porch
and fire's tint
as paper falling
soundless –
November as a surgeon
of the scarlet way

Falling

rain constant
like Buddhist prayers
humming amongst lowered
leaves –
this recompense
a holiness falling
as Love

drawing myself
as water from a well
into a sovereign place
unafraid of rain falling
on this fire