Pebbles

the wind in pine tops
does sound like sea

so we stretch like sunbathers
on a broad fallen log

while trees reach cone-crowned into blue
day wave-washes over

sun and time tumble
our jagged parts smooth

Camping in North Texas

here we celebrate small
seasons, breath
between freeze and swelter
prickly pear paddles grown
green, fringed, wind
whipped up from the lake
verbena, butterfly-winged

contactless delivery

blame it on the sunny Saturday, so
caressed by daffodil yellow
hunting for lilac leaves, perhaps
in the dream of the moment all forgotten
it is not okay
to move toward someone, to stretch out your hand.

well, his look of reproach
as good as a wall
the box carefully set
on the sidewalk
between us.

(in the house, in the box a dress
sky-blue eyelet—
the mirror and I admired it)

Minus 42, Plus 9

a step away from the graywhite world
off the cliff and to what warm breath
what greengold chasm
what impossible delight

Unfurl

hope like arugula sprouts
big enough to be seen
from a second-floor window

*

cat out and leap-chasing
shadows—sparrow, crow,
flick/sway of still-bare branches

*

water wind-rippled in bird baths
sometimes sun-shimmered, reflecting
on redbud bark

*

that april blizzard and how
we could see again
smooth-swirl snow on rooftops,
dollops on red-budded trees

spring

will you take my voice, now
rough with disuse
again, the way
green pokes out from last year’s brown
leaves, bold of its welcome
no matter how thin
or straggly or
unintended

the world tells you again

in this fountaining the flutter
wing-dust and scattered
seed, greening

why should you not return
to heartening beneath
your one-note lament

and need for salt don’t say
it’s always the same
for when have you ever noticed

roses blown open to rain
robins food-screeching
in your window-tree?

on wanting to share “To Earthward”

a day of sudden hard light:
we’ve grown so tired
watercolor gray, so
with each visible sunbeam
we anticipate snow melting
on the verge, imagine the bee-
house warming and all green
pushing from the other side,
touch to touch, still seeking
wisdom’s communion
but tree-tough, immune
to frost, to blossom

You can read Frost’s “To Earthward” here.

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

charity begins

and at home, ends
like the soggy plastic bag
blown winter-hard
across open yards
from the neighbor’s
recycling bin