this a.m.

cleaning frenzy downstairs the ruckus
of laundry and drowning perfume

birds dart tree to tree unable to settle
on this branch or that much less thought

but the pair of ducks on the neighbor’s roof-
peak: they stand, step closer together,

pause, step again, coyly dip their heads—
my half-cup of coffee still warm

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frustration #3

you won’t say they’re unfeeling
the cable men digging a coffin-sized hole
obliterating a season’s worth of green
growing by your back fence—
if anything you feel
for them, waist-deep and it’s snowing
and despite your best compost efforts
the earth is still clay—
after all they moved
the plastic gnome smoking his pipe
cross-legged against the rubble,
serene

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April Gifts

i.

the cardinal sudden like words
from a friend, bright unexpected
against leafless sky, same sweet
song and soul-balm

ii.

not faith but a kind of pride, your belief
every day should offer something
like this dirt finally warming,
hand-crumbled, enough?

iii.

if the pansies survive
this record cold, it is no god’s bow
to the balance due, nor even
to your impatience

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