her notes sliding down
in spots the sun has melted —
tiny winter wren

waxing winter moon —
on the lookout for some snow
to put that shine on

somehow surprising
even though we've been waiting —
snowdrops in winter

winter decadence —
I put on my pajamas
fresh from the dryer

cold winter starlight —
constellations growing brighter
as I look away

for just a minute
rain flirts with a freezing wind —
kids yelling "snow, snow!'

shifting seas and plans —
mariners, here comes the gale
take your maps back out

cold empty skies —
I write a message to you
and backspace over it

setting aside
yesterday's massacre
for the latest one

Lunar New Year —
we reach back for the feeling
of safety at home

cold weather mornings —
even wearing two sweaters
my mother seems smaller

my little sister
asking me to brush her hair —
half a life ago

dark dripping wet day —
I dig in my closet
until I find green

sky charts mapping out
the route of the green comet —
our light interfering

winter chickadees
with a plan to flourish —
one nut at a time

thin waning crescent,
the moon curls in on itself —
cold, getting colder

the urge to circle —
a resting space in the grass,
small afternoon nap

winter wind blowing
fiercely cold with hints of green —
women life freedom

enough light again
for us to see each other —
a few new wrinkles

steady soaking rain —
the river thinks again about
jumping its banks

middle school wrestling —
we choose a champion and yell
as if they can hear

two foxes chasing
each other through backyards —
dark spots in the dark

cold cheeks and nose
sweetgum seed balls underfoot —
winter's plan of attack

from across the room
the sweet sound of her breathing —
rain on the roof, too

notice something small 
how snow looks when it first sticks —
find someone to love

those eight inches
between doors scented with pine —
we leave our wreath up

we bring in the swings —
scraped bare spots underneath
opened now to snow

the moon spies on us
winking up from each puddle
a few nights from full

she invited us 
to fly with her to Kenya —
our poor grounded hearts

(A mighty tree has fallen.)

my long-gone father
somewhere shaking his head —
only damp firewood

looking down
at its dark, sliding shadow
then up at the hawk