new constellations —

the lines connecting our stars

are curved

yard work —

we leave the dead branches

the birds love so much

cold November night —

even the scent of woodsmoke

warms us a little

more leaves on the ground

than there are left on the trees —

she shakes her snow globe

arroyo near dusk —

only the tips of the trees

still seeing sun

nails dark with loam —

stand slowly, breathe in

the last garden day

meet me

in the green cave

beneath the willow

at the wood’s edge

a fox seems to flicker

in and out of sight

carrots and parsnips

earth and rain and cooler air

all of it welcome

a steady trickle

to keep the pipes from freezing —

my daily haiku

raucous geese —

cries bringing the sky closer

as they fly over

art show opening —

every man eager to talk

about himself

the ash grove at night —

moonlight peeking in

to see if we’ve gone

we tell it again —

the story of our bedroom

and that one firefly

a deer-shaped darkness

running across the road ahead —

November nights

banking the embers

that will be tomorrow’s fire —

he tells me a story

gone for just a month —

one droplet in a sky of rain

and still we feel it

for C.R., in memoriam

again and again

my thoughts drawn back to you —

paths worn by walking

half-frozen puddles

carpeted with gingko leaves —

winter kisses fall

lost in the fog —

grandpa’s hesitation

as he makes the turn

river valley fog —

we begin to doubt

that day will break through

feeling the flow —

rapids of our own devising

as we dam the creek

pouring water

from one cup to another —

our long conversation

layer-proof cold —

the weight of your loss

pushing out a sigh

for C.R., in memoriam

November morning —

stepping into the quiet,

my breath made visible

barn swallows

and their swooping dives —

when you say my name

we put your stories

in motion, in flight, in air —

memorial service

for C.R., in memoriam

what about those times

when we know what we needed —

too late, oh too late

for C.R., in memoriam

under the weight

of an unbroken wave —

this day without tears

for C.R., in memoriam

woodsmoke in the air —

our hands, reaching out

across the gap