storm at the windows —
we wait for the birds
to sing the all-clear

draw in the circle —
you'll have to come closer, now
for me to hear you

spurred to wild growth
by a flickering candle —
forced rhubarb

far enough from home
that the day's first bird songs
are unfamiliar

how am I still here
planning a run tomorrow
if she is gone?

(for EV)

storm in the Catskills —
if we'd stayed one day more
we'd be snowed in now

March madness —
underground bamboo ready
to take all the shots

just a light dusting
this late-in-the-season snow
un-dimming the world

dark-eyed juncos —
just the flash of their tails as
they leave us behind

just enough moonlight
for us to see the snow
as it starts to fall

stowaway spring —
we drive north towards the snow
backwards in time

cut back and unwind
last year's wisteria —
make room for spring

memorial meeting —
our stories tracing the shape
of the one we've lost

(for GM)

fish crows overhead
crocuses underfoot
sunshine all around

more silver showing
with every haircut —
senior discount

driftwood tangle —
the boys make a ship of it
using towels for sails

bicycles waiting
for the garage door
to open again

today's howling wind —
recycling
the recycling

so windy today
the soap bubbles
blew themselves

the morning's first song —
rasp of a red-winged blackbird
scraping the sky

all her recipes
meant for a full house —
leftovers again

every morning
a green brighter than the last —
late for work again

we look away 
as if that will change something —
spring's first mosquitos

grief's underground stream —
all the places I expect
and want to see her

(for KD)

opening act —
ground level check-in chirps
just before the song

stay up late with me —
when we can't explain how we feel
we'll coin a new word

standing water
again in the old places —
I dream of swimming

background buzz —
the irretrievable pick
inside her guitar

winter melt —
a steady drip down
the back of my throat

weirdly warm weather —
I blush at even the idea
of her hands

rabbit tracks
in the snow by the maple —
her loosely woven braid

radio buttons
pre-set to the old songs —
loyal listener

flash of a white wing
catching the last rays of sun —
short-eared owl dazzle

I open the door
to let in some moonlight —
the cold tags along

leaden sky
with the sun
trying to burn through

blue jays boxing out
as the iced-over bird bath
unfreezes at last

the steady drip
of melting ice —
waning gibbous moon

no 911 call
no call for an ambulance —
Nex Benedict's gone

we describe for him
the way he sang in his crib —
new bedtime stories

three-day weekend —
the lake starts to think about
freezing over

one more suicide —
no one who was on the train
will ever forget

the urge to clean —
last year's sweet gum balls
spiky underfoot

invisible love —
knowing how everyone else
takes their coffee

harvesting ice
after two sub-freezing nights —
no forgiveness in sight

waxing crescent moon —
shining down on the hills
that turned into slopes

a three-day-old moon
and inside-out pajamas —
snow day spell-casting

dead leaves and petals —
every morning the sparrows
come looking for spring

lunar New Year —
the sound of cardinals checking
in on each other

thick and forceful wind —
I think of all the times
when no was needed

dark-eyed juncos
sketching their plans for the day —
the wind makes a change

who cooks for you? —
a pair of barred owls
map the forest shade

a break in the storm —
space for the urgent scratch of
pencil on paper

rain and more rain  —
seed catalogs offering
sun on every page

by the maple's root
a tiny stand of snowdrops —
who will tell them?

cherished tradition —
he sits beneath the coat hooks
in his cozy spot

worsening weather —
I pull on one more layer
before heading out

puddles

are for stomping —

the toddler's creed

taking the tree down
we find a small empty nest —
one last ornament

(HT @elizabethharman)

Bananagrams rules —
my mother and I decide
every word counts

carrot ginger soup —
years from now he'll want this
when a cold's coming

backyard berries —
a flock of winter robins
strips the branches bare

obscuring fog —
we make our way home
with hands outstretched

noticing the twist
at the azalea's root —
dreaming in bonsai

no-fly zone —
we avoid talking about
Palestine again

dormant wisteria
now blooming
with juncos

(first posted over on SeasonWords.com)

secret ingredient —
the faint scent of orange zest
giving it away

first bird of the day
black-capped chickadee
tuning up its song

as I wake up
the white throated sparrow
informs me I'm late

all day long
every conversation
came back to the cold

ice-glazed snow
and the sound of the world
breaking underfoot

winter night —
in the children's bedrooms
a fierce hope for snow

no-fly zone —
we avoid talking about
Palestine again

ungovernable —
the last cricket sings away
in the basement

waxing crescent moon —
somehow more present
for being barely there

divorce stories
around the backyard fire pit —
my throat fills with smoke

fields given over
to wandering flood water —
our talk takes a turn

sending the kids off
with a bag full of trip snacks —
I am my mother

our son finds photos
from the early years —
"you were both so young!"

neighborhood chat —
the geese shout us down
from just overhead

we hurry outside —
remember how the snow
used to stay?

traveling through
a cloud of cosmic debris —
our boy explains meteors

faint scent of pine —
we leave the tree up
for one more night

dentist appointment —
a hole in my calendar
already

after the party
news of the unwanted gift —
we've all been exposed

nothing feels new —
I write in the old year
only to cross it out