New Year’s Eve

no call from my parents —

the stars seem to drift

moonlight on snow

as a plow opens a path —

we root for the shine

no sign of the fox —

we imagine it curled up

nose tucked under tail

bitter cold —

we hold our hands open

over the fire

our winter wishes

you turn to ask, will these stick?

… a few flakes of snow

tall trees

turned by the winter wind

into instruments

minus a ladder

we string our lights by flinging —

starshine bridging the gap

unpredicted rain —

in this stack of old Christmas cards

your handwriting

cold, dark and clear

this sky making way for stars —

a memory returns

the shape of my dream —

more elusive as I

try to remember

fingernail moon

keeping us company

on our cold walk home

in this longest night

somehow still hanging on —

dry dead leaves

returning home

for a midwinter visit —

everything seeming small

these long dark nights

perfect for spell casting —

black on black on black

disappearing

along with yesterday’s snow —

front yard bunny’s tracks

the audience stands

you slip your hand into mine —

a tale ends and begins

tucked into burrows

talking about how cold it is —

even the rabbits!

melted snow —

how did I miss the signs

that you had moved on?

Geminid shower —

the spark lingering in her

long after sunrise

bucking horses

and barking dogs —

karma’s messengers

hoping our luck holds —

another night walk

full of stories

head held high

the fox stops to taste the night —

moonlit December

walking home alone

hoping the snow will stick —

I practice your name

last night’s frost

waiting for a chance to shine —

like me, like you

winter walk —

your voice made visible

as you call my name

forced air heat —

even with the lotion

my skin starts to crack

everything changes

at once more and less real

as we speak these words

winter moon —

before the journey,

preparation

the year’s brightest moon

putting it all in focus —

your faith in me

an almost-full moon

lighting up tonight’s frost —

why leave your arms?

all that was left

as the world fell away —

the sound of your voice

new constellations —

the lines connecting our stars

are curved

yard work —

we leave the dead branches

the birds love so much

cold November night —

even the scent of woodsmoke

warms us a little

more leaves on the ground

than there are left on the trees —

she shakes her snow globe

arroyo near dusk —

only the tips of the trees

still seeing sun

nails dark with loam —

stand slowly, breathe in

the last garden day

meet me

in the green cave

beneath the willow

at the wood’s edge

a fox seems to flicker

in and out of sight

carrots and parsnips

earth and rain and cooler air

all of it welcome

a steady trickle

to keep the pipes from freezing —

my daily haiku

raucous geese —

cries bringing the sky closer

as they fly over

art show opening —

every man eager to talk

about himself

the ash grove at night —

moonlight peeking in

to see if we’ve gone

we tell it again —

the story of our bedroom

and that one firefly

a deer-shaped darkness

running across the road ahead —

November nights

banking the embers

that will be tomorrow’s fire —

he tells me a story

gone for just a month —

one droplet in a sky of rain

and still we feel it

for C.R., in memoriam

again and again

my thoughts drawn back to you —

paths worn by walking

half-frozen puddles

carpeted with gingko leaves —

winter kisses fall

lost in the fog —

grandpa’s hesitation

as he makes the turn

river valley fog —

we begin to doubt

that day will break through