October 22, 2018

sweeping our walkway
I lose track for looking up —
clouds and the moon

October 21, 2018

seeing the rain’s edge
yet unable to stay dry —
more fatherless days

October 20, 2018

a sharp crack
as an acorn hits the pavement —
even the squirrel jumps

October 19, 2018

Pine, Maple, Linden —
we walk home through the tree streets,
leaves letting go

October 18, 2018

a gentle dampness
in the curls at your neck —
knowing just how that feels

October 17, 2018

cold sinking down
where no layers seem to reach
deep in the marrow

October 16, 2018

space between crickets —
we move to shield each other
from the growing cold

October 15, 2018

the sound of her loom —
squirrels digging holes and still
trusting memory

an owl’s single note
knitting up my fitful sleep —
cold October night

October 14, 2018

he lost his accent
except when he was counting —
front entry stairs

October 13, 2018

October 12, 2018

words snagging
on the jagged edge of loss  —
past tense caught in my throat

words snagging
on the jagged edge of loss  —
past tense caught in my throat

October 11, 2018

coyote moon —
only self-imposed silence
keeps us from howling

October 10, 2018

I barely saw it —
just after the whoosh of wings
a bird-shaped hole

October 09, 2018

acorns underfoot
and the sounds of squirrels chiding:
we were saving those!

October 08, 2018

tiny grey-brown mouse —
I coax the other women
down off their chairs

October 07, 2018

the name of the star
whose light keeps you on course —
whisper it to me

October 06, 2018

October 05, 2018

chasing good sailing —
in the leaves and whitecaps
we watch for the wind

October 04, 2018

we keep the dead tree
because the birds gather there —
stories of my father

October 03, 2018

days full of sighing —
no matter which way I turn
grief is there, waiting

October 02, 2018

October 01, 2018

translucent silk —
I carried her to safety
by that single thread

September 30, 2018

September 29, 2018

moonlight so bright
it throws shadows in the dark —
so clear now, his flaws

September 28, 2018

September 27, 2018

his first physics test
with no grandfather to share
hard-won answers with

September 26, 2018

another season
another battle with ants —
first frost nowhere in sight

September 25, 2018

road-edge rivers
too wide today for jumping —
we take the long way

September 24, 2018

how like your kisses,
those first few drops of rain!
we hurry our steps

September 23, 2018

raccoon-tossed trash,
our garden in disarray —
let’s look at the moon!

September 22, 2018

he takes home a shirt
from his grandfather's closet —
leaves starting to fall

September 21, 2018

stumbling forward
eyes on the uneven ground
foraging for light

September 20, 2018

approaching full moon —
this world brimming with things
he would have liked

September 19, 2018

September 18, 2018

your breath and mine
the only sounds as we try
to wake only each other

September 17, 2018

September 16, 2018

September 15, 2018

September 14, 2018

caught by my headlights —
the flash of a frog’s legs
jumping to safety

September 13, 2018

mid-September —
all of summer dwindling to
just one firefly

September 12, 2018

we walk through the dark
past windows leaking light —
two shadows, touching

September 11, 2018

grateful surrender —
I let my eyes follow you
not caring who sees

September 10, 2018

subtle changes —
the fawns farther away now
their spots fading

September 09, 2018

steady gentle rain —
memories spilling over
the top of the cup

steady gentle rain —
memories spilling over
the top of the cup

September 08, 2018

trading stories —
our words the criss-crossed twigs
that keep the dark at bay

September 07, 2018

duck-under pushes
that felt like swing rocket boosts —
remembering Dad

September 06, 2018

trellis-climbing vines —
our bodies will know the way
without instruction

September 05, 2018

our front yard bunny
shows up in the neighbor’s yard —
thinning autumn grass

September 04, 2018

trees we planted
casting shade on the roof now —
he would have approved

September 03, 2018

September 02, 2018

first days of autumn —
deep in the flower
just the bee’s tail

September 01, 2018

first morning alone —
straining to see the stars
she knows are still there

August 31, 2018

almost sixty years
of signing cards with two names —
her pen hovers, stalls

August 30, 2018

a glow the only sign
of the cloud-obscured moon —
we go by memory

August 29, 2018

I can still hear
the fork beating on a glass bowl
as he scrambled eggs

August 28, 2018

last days of summer
the unpredictable flight
of butterflies

August 27, 2018

how long did we stand
looking at each other —
five deer at dusk

August 26, 2018

sloshing around
in the bottom of the kayak —
last cup of summer

August 24, 2018

August 23, 2018

as the sun slid down
we watched a goldfinch plucking
end-of-season seeds

August 22, 2018

monarch butterfly
overwhelmed by the choices —
so many flowers!

August 21, 2018

underground streams
re-routed by grief’s flood —
what does dry feel like?

August 20, 2018

here and then not —
a fox and her mate show us
the limits of sight