late February

each night a little colder

the fox curls tighter

new to each other
we move forward cautiously —

ice-narrowed streets

in the background

of an old recording

we hear sounds of spring

another snowstorm —

our world newly in need

of navigating

black ice in sun

cleverly disguised

as nothing at all

ice-crusted snow

and the two of us trying

not to break through it

slow meltwater drip

seems all the nudge they needed —

midwinter bird song

snow at first light —

the front yard bunny

gives away his plans

the road ahead

obscured by wind-driven snow —

eightieth birthday

one long hair from

the previous borrower —

unintended bookmark

I find your secret

in the car’s CD player —

Christmas music

our son’s wrestling gym

nosebleeds and grins all around

winter’s warm spot

ice underfoot —

we watch to see who else

feels like stomping

the coldest night —

I wonder again about

the birds who stayed

midwinter night —

we move the tissue boxes

around the house

loving the shock

on the three year olds’ faces

when you know their songs

late spring

mountain stream —

first pee of the day

this chickadee

I keep trying to show you

has some other plan

close enough

that we hear their wingbeats —

winter herons

when we are open

to ourselves as instruments —

what thrilling chords!

we turn on our brights

to find only the fog

illuminated

across the frozen lake

my frictionless sled ride

nearest to flight

such nonchalance —

how do we keep forgetting

the seeds beneath us?

learn to look askance

to glimpse the fainter stars —

oh, how I miss you!

to know a body

although it is not your own

as if it were

nervously trading

warnings about the ice

we walk anyway

last year’s note

in my winter coat pocket —

need cough drops

waiting for a storm

we chip away at the ice

left from the last one