petals in drifts

where the wind has left them —

the rain waits its turn

this spring, too —

wisteria vines

finding their way

neat rows of tulips

in open-mouthed shock —

late April snow

from two rows up

a young girl’s excited question —

are we in the sky?

forsythia

with more than half their petals

strewn on the ground

the end

of a long day —

I write in a goldfinch

azaleas —

their bright buds

speaking in tongues

weeping cherry trees —

she was planning to see them

one more time

after takeoff

the white heron’s feet

dangling through the sky