temporary hole

in the cloud of gnats

where I ran through

first sun of the year —

in every neighborhood

the smell of manure

robins at dusk

their sharp calls

bouncing overhead

Gettysburg hills —

she thinks of something else lost

in the room that burned

(for our dear friends in Hopewell)

cold snap —

the cracks in my skin

return

loud clock —

I move it around the house

seeking escape

poised to run as if

moonlight is escapable —

the front yard bunny

still in that space

waiting for their plucky songs

(up before the birds)

pear blossoms falling

for just a moment

my eye thinks “snow!”