call and response —
the great horned owls prove
there are two of them

walking by the lake —
I never do see the wren
whose song trickles down

full moon —
ingredient in a recipe 
we know by heart

unvaccinated —
my hair longer now
than it’s ever been

beyond the fog
waiting like the rest of us
bare trees stood apart

bundled up against
all the snow that never fell —
dreaming in drifts

daily walk —
the shortcut that brings me home
worn down to a ditch

abundant sunshine
yet still the lake stays frozen —
try again tomorrow

reassurance
in the form of snowdrops —
spring remembers us

I feel him closest
when I make a joke he’d like —
filling in his laugh

moon half-full
with leftover light —
the owl goes hunting

moon half-full
with leftover light —
the owl goes hunting

what we have longed for —
a space in the cold and dark
for warmth and light

shadows darker
than the trees that cast them —
empty waiting arms

we remember
sitting next to each other —
soft scent of shampoo

early morning walk
smiles coaxed from strangers
warming up the day

close enough to see 
the fox’s open mouth 
as it loped away

evening wood smoke
from a neighbor’s chimney —
these tenuous ties

moonlight on the bounce —
when I tell the five year old
she smiles like the sun

white-throated sparrow
singing open a space —
my heart unclenches

three seasons in —
we change our minds
about what we want

how the shy sister
wound up with him in the end —
our new favorite

treetops blazing gold
with the last light of the day —
we lift our eyes

finding our way back
by the silver light of stars —
bedtime in camp

after the snow
they found the waterfall
following its sound

insurrection —
awaiting the judgement
of history

three hundred days in
we stand in our driveways
greyer by half

busy chickadees —
we string them some cranberries
in the bamboo

the scent of snow
followed by the sound of ice —
we scrape our way clear

my father
raising my bike seat for me
one last time

the year’s first bath —
our boy’s falsetto floating 
out over the snow