dark patio stones

where the snow melted first —

cardinals passing time

New Year’s dumplings —

overhead someone stirs

a skyful of stars

flirting with themselves

while skimming the horizon —

geese above the lake

they come

when there is no stopping them —

tears and protestors

late January —

awash with hope for birdsong

I forget my name

wind through bare branches —

my eye traces the line of you

as you turn to go

different this time —

straight friends ask where they can buy

a rainbow flag

deer in the field

lifting their heads until

the train whistle fades

in the end

my letters to her come back —

embers in the ash

wait here at the edge

for the turning of the tide —

you’ll know it by feel


(Shout-out to my friend Erin Lynn Jeffreys Hodges and everyone else who "liked" or shared this haiku.)

tires on a wet road

sing the perfect lullaby —

we take turns driving

her linsensuppe —

my hands remember how

if I don’t stop to think

hillsides of people

waiting for their fireworks —

how slow the sun is!

dependable rain —

count on us to come inside

talking about it

we traded rings —

a first step towards becoming

everything we feared

morning sun

climbing the hill’s far side —

birds sing us the news

there are bells ringing

in my memory of her —

was it a Sunday?

feet not fast enough

to get the kite flying —

first love in tatters

winter greys and browns

made it easier to spot —

early morning fox

side by side

turning pages —

bedtime butterflies

steady all-day rain —

the earth rolls over

for a belly rub

summer dusk —

the hopscotch game no one wants

to end

his younger self

wonder and tenderness

coming back in waves

cold winter morning —

fewer cookies the price we pay

for sneaking raw dough

new calendar —

filling up these little squares

the planting of seeds

on a treasure hunt

for stones with a hole worn through —

thanking the glaciers

the sound of skate blades

ice finally thick enough

to welcome this prayer

even the crow

quiets down for a moment

surveying the frost

dusk before the moon —

the first day I’ve forgotten

to remember you

a friend reminds me

today was a minute longer —

I still need my lamp

her father’s longing

for the boy she never was —

origin story

(for a friend)