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

here at my feet

evidence of new life

a broken white shell

following the song

back to the bird on the branch —

we stand still, looking

long-lived grief —

a few of the daffodils

stay beaten down

the first real sun --

we all come back inside

looking for aloe

spring morning —

the sound of a neighbor’s broom

sweeping up petals

bumblebees

deliberate in their joy —

petal by petal

every tree

an instrument of the wind —

time kept by bending

trying to find sleep

before the storm starts up —

the sound of ice cubes

our gentle surprise —

walking out into the night

and meeting warm air

just above our heads

rain falling on the new roof —

the sound of peace

early morning light —

the front yard bunny decides

I am not a threat

a flash of color

from a red-winged blackbird —

time for summer shirts

same old fight —

in the wall, the smell

of something dead

each magnolia

in synch with all the others —

buds dripping moonlight

warm, sea-salted air —

our boy sees skipping stones

everywhere he looks

the coaxing of spring —

birds scouting nesting sites

as we spread mulch

our son comes home

full to the brim with story —

we cup our hands

we change our route

so the walk takes longer —

magnolia buds

in forsythia

we forgot to cut back

the start of a nest

another concert

my father would have loved —

no moon in sight

the robin’s cocked head

as it listens

for worms