6:50

sunday dusk

the sky lets light go

from its shoulders

December 1 (Two Haiku)

December one rain

barely mist on entering

the holiday room

*

Thank you for the gift

this dark candlelit cradle

in which to knead bread

Day Before Thanksgiving

Have I said this yet

the quiet the day before

waters Thanksgiving

(Variation on a theme)

All That I’ve Written

All that I’ve written

is waiting to hear me say

just once just thank you

Two Haiku Written While Sitting with a Dog

Beagles know their mind

Maybe you have your own plan

Sorry, stop right there 

*

What's that tall thin weed

that scattered my childhood’s grass 

with efflorescence?

(Not New York)

It feels like New York

this lunch place filled with voices

a silent refuge

Last Friday Evening

Memorial Day

begins hushed with Friday’s breeze

the rest a mystery

Two “She’s”

Dog park 8 pm
all she wants to do is sniff
I plan my dinner

*

On Mother’s Day eve
I was in an antique store
full of things she loved*


*Literally. This store is closing after 72 years. Mom shopped there since I was a kid. Our home had numerous pieces that she  bought there. And the shop bought back many of them as well as other items of hers after we cleared out the family house. I have, in turn, bought a few back myself over the last few years. The store still has some, and who knows where they will go after it closes next month.

Sunday Afternoon

The colors taken—
lavender violet—what’s left
for wisteria?

*

I long for the nod
the generational wink
that says yeah it was

*

Is it still in me
on an unfamiliar trail
the power to shine

Two on Time

Eating lunch alone—

the best, have done it for years,

once was someone else

*

I talk to my plants

a thing from the '70s

but faith comes with age

Park

“Think I can join you?”
half of a park bench open
iron arm between

Two Spring Haiku

Cold clings to April
cloth chilled on a bed of ice
balm to unseen wound

*

A helicopter
gone before I’ve found a word
for the sky, for flight

Memory and Ink

Memory and ink
secrets arms leg torso breath 
drawn close

Forecast

Awaiting March snow
winter’s first real storm (or not) 
branches breathe in buds

Acceptance (Two Haiku)

All I can see now,
light glimpsed through slats of fence. 
No, all I can say.

*

Still: even so. Still:
after all this time. And still:
spring snow silent, still. 

Warmth

Six days left till spring, 
first fire of winter burning, 
one coming, one here.

DST

Daylight savings dusk
the open end of a flask
pouring blue gold light

March 4

Mom died on the 4th,
held in her children’s embrace, 
and for nine months since. 

Vet

I need help she called
my dog is throwing up blood
the room turned red tears

On the Road

There’s more than one way 
to walk through this world as two.
Married? One home? Hush.