junk drawer —

just beyond the window

a magpie’s tilted head

this all-night rain

switching it up between

lullaby and alarm

woolly caterpillar —

so much slower to uncurl

the second time

since motherhood

all she can see in winter

are heads needing hats

like the horses

moving faster on our way

back to the barn

we are together —

how long we have waited

for each of these nights

front yard maple —

just big enough this year

to hold up some lights

at the edges

of each other’s sight —

trading smiles

day’s end —

only the clock’s ticking

to keep me company

saving the soup —

the work of not stirring up

the burned bits

sub-freezing cold —

no matter how we stand

the water finds us


(Thinking about the water protectors at Standing Rock)

late night sleet

tapping against our windows —

we add a blanket

planting crocus bulbs —

this rich, dark earth smelling

just like a promise

(for MKR)

unrequited —

the sound of the moth’s

beating wings

(for JW)

what is required

when you hear a bird song

not heard before?

melting

into an ocean of sky —

slightly smaller moon

is there a breath

deep enough to move this weight

from my chest?

mid-November —

building time for ice-scraping

into my mornings

woodsmoke —

the smell of it weaving

through the trees’ dark limbs

getting used to ache

although I never meant to —

still just three days in

just a hint of frost —

wisteria vine slowly

stretching towards death

approaching flight speed

just ahead of the boat —

a family of geese

wondering again

who it was

we thought we were

half moon

in a cold sky —

I pull my hat down

painting the ceiling —

I try to warn the moths

to stay away

autumn nights

fogged bakery windows

the next morning

so small in the world

to cast this large a shadow —

red fox at dusk

freeing the hornbeam —

tendrils of vine tight like

brand new baby fists

Día de los Muertos —

I teach our boy how to draw

X’s for eyes

fallen leaves —

now the sparrow and I

can see each other