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Soon, darkness recedes.
But tonight I wrap myself
in velvet-starred black.
Flat mapped names turn in-
to forested hills, roads wind
towards adventure.
And so summer goes
like fishing line cast into
swift moving waters
When’s the right time to
wash winter blankets? Last night
I saw snowflakes fall.
Dog is lagging yet
clear skies pale green leaves urge me
to linger longer.
Rake leaves left over
from fall. Clean porch furniture.
Spring into action.
An unexpected
crocus emerges, smiling
from a brown leaf pile.
Florida is the
cheese at the end of the maze
known as air travel.
Ph.D.s waitress
here, M.A.s babysit, ’cause
no one wants to leave.
Hills like cut paper
black against tissue blue skies.
Through poked holes, stars shine.
Now that the snow is
gone, her neglected garden
pokes up stalks of loss.
Hats, gloves, put away
in optimism return
for winter’s last gasp.
a dilemma of
riches in tiny topaz
the art of language
the constant dripping
nature’s tears of joy as she
sees her world reborn
The equinox means
equal night and day worldwide
yin and yang of light.
Days grow longer like
smiles that stretch wider as one
greets a long lost friend.
What’s that mean? That spring’s
a dominatrix, whipping
March ’til it submits?
We sleep late and do
little. Spend quality time.
Together, enough.
February’s haste
to usher in an early
March slowed by one day.
Snow releases its
grip as small drops melt merge run
in noisy trickles.
Crashed. Met Tailies. Then
Others. Hatch blew up. Kate caged.
Got Lost about there.
Speed-viewing seasons
one through three’s like life in the
hatch. Push the button.
Day in Christiansted.
Cool arched walkways, courtyards lined
with stores. Few shoppers.
Wet bathing suits, striped
towels hang from porch rails like
vacation banners.
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