at the world's edge
a quiet whisper of light —
colors get ready

front yard bunnies
chasing each other
into spring

we stand still
because the fox has stopped —  
the moon waits, too

tomorrow's sun
will shine on open flowers —
witnessing the verge

will the robins 
choose the same tree 
again this year?

fiercer than the wind —
this male robin calling out
to his unmet mate

first love —
tomorrow's rain will wash
these blossoms away

(HT @allisonjoseph)

when I open my heart
the grief backs up
and overflows

one hula hoop
spinning us all the way back
into five year-olds

as I leave for home
she holds out a jar for me —
preserved summer sun

virtual meeting —
another day of no one
seeing my sweatpants

vernal equinox —
the moon hollowed out
with waiting

rain and more rain —
gold slipping in on a slant
at the very end

you sit next to me
as your flowering daphne
perfumes the yard

farther and farther —
we reach all the way back
for the baby stories

Appalachian Trail —
he weighs his backpack
one more time

we shush each other
straining to see past nothing —
foggy mountain road

layers of mountains

holding wonder for the first

legs to cross over

new moon —
I think of my mother 
after she's gone to bed

one last patch of snow
sliver of moon overhead —
so much close to gone

with the snow gone
fall's flattened grass reappears —
we just want to rest

pussywillow buds —
we struggle to believe
that it's been a year

warmer air at last —
spring announces itself
with a sneeze

on our walk we leave
the neighborhood behind —
fade up on the stars

barbed wire song
of a red-winged blackbird —
early spring rust

I keep saying it
because it keeps being true —
missing my old friend

waning quarter moon
and the leftover snow drifts —
melting by the day

early March —
I put the mouse where I hope 
an owl might find it

our eyes seeking out
the snowdrops we counted on —
still something's missing

we stand in snow
on the shady side —
unvaccinated

this wind tonight
pulling low notes of protest
from everything it touches