branches without leaves

against a cloud-shrouded sky —

nothing starts today

year’s end snow drifts —

imagining the sweet hollow

where your neck begins

winter song circle —

by the last verse

we all know the tune

in the owl’s shadow

a rabbit runs for cover —

late December

past the edge of town

out where the stars are brighter —

come and find me

splashes of wine

on the new cookbook —

my sister’s kitchen

low-angle sunlight

glancing off the gelid lake —

the wheeling stars wait

Christmas Eve —

untangling the tree lights

just in time

forgetting again

who this present is for —

Christmas Eve eve

after the Solstice —

our far-from-home Christmas tree

lets down its boughs

trying not to break

the frozen grass underfoot —

thoughts of my father

old friends

their arms around each other —

winter holiday

teaching my heart

(now that the flowers are gone)

to open in the cold

ice at the lake’s edge —

I wonder if the geese

are already gone

darker every day —

we stand still until

our eyes adjust

clouds over clouds —

so many snow day dreams

tucked under the eaves

clouds over clouds —

so many snow day dreams

tucked under the eaves

Christmas cards —

more of them now with

one signature

new diagnosis —

the ground goes soft

in an all-day rain

the never-gone stars

of a cloud-crowded sky —

missing grandparents

under the ice

the brook still tumbling down —

words just out of reach

cold winter night —

we can’t seem to stop talking 

about the moon

the stars are the same

it must be we who have changed —

new constellations

all day rain —

the step down to the dock

so much shorter now

end of day sigh —

the dog uses my leg

for a pillow

Christmas wreath —

a small insistent forest

between the doors

my father’s name —

flickering back to life

whenever I sign mine

gentle insistence —

mourning doves calling again

for what they want

last night’s dreams —

the feeling of snowflakes

melting on my face

my heart

beating fast for you —

birds bursting skyward

glowing eyes and shadows —

we and the fox go home

to tell our families

rain turning to sleet —

every surface becoming

the drum it dreamed of

rain turning to sleet —

every surface becoming

the drum it dreamed of

fallen leaves

returned whirling to the sky —

when she calls me back

a happy space

in place of the alarm —

holiday weekend

her hand even just on my shoulder revives me

gusts of wind

catching on the corner

of the house

noisy guardians —

geese grudgingly allow us

out on their lake

a hole in the earth

where the roots used to be —

the father who walked out

the sound in the fire

as a burning log shifts —

her name in my mind

cold snap —

fields' worth of flower stalks

giving up at last

preparing the feast —

I hear my kitchen notes

in my mother’s voice

watching for meteors

to the left of Orion —

keep rolling, clouds!

fallen leaves

curled into each other —

my hand finds her waist

the sound

of the birds I startled

carried through my day

just enough light

for the heron

to be blue

a hitch in my voice

just before I say “wife” —

braving the cold

(alt)

the slightest pause

just before I say “wife” —

braving the cold

the sun trips up

over the edge of the world —

spilled color everywhere

mid-November —

trying to warm my hands

too far from the fire

the sound of a stag

crashing through the brush —

my heart racing after

the measure of Chopin

our son has been working on —

accompanying me

flurried snowflakes

too quick to tongue-catch —

the full moon looks on

one night shy of full

the moon encircles herself

with an icy ring

almost a full moon —

horses with their winter coats

starting to come in

a still small body —

even the trees look away

from the roadside ditch

leaves piled high

patiently awaiting

jumping children

we make a deal

to tuck each other in —

night folds itself too

in your embrace

I feel my clenched heart relax —

acorns on the earth

leaves sparkling with frost —

we listen for the sweet sound

of no mosquitos

tonight’s alchemy —

a boy with a book in bed

sounding out the words

almost a half moon —

how hasty change feels to me

mired in my grief

wisteria vine —

still holding on

through longer nights

shooting star —

we take a breath

together

listening for the wind

as we count our candy —

tornado warning