each morning

a little more light

to see you by

waiting for the sound

of her key in the lock —

the click of us

late night fox

flowing over the field —

we hold our breath

ruffled feathers —

sparrows chirring their complaints

into the wind

the dogwood tree

we thought might be dead —

how sweet to be wrong

all that my father taught me

spiraling down and out

one long apple peel

eye appointment —

the edges I’ve lost

come back

as we walk

you read the world to me

out loud

piled up in drifts —

all my little snow day

to do lists