Midwinter Trees

 (2/18/25)

All the gray branches

reach high like

   the fingers of lean arms.

Like the fibers of a broom wisp—

they may sweep the sky of its clouds.

Working on something new?

 

Something new in the works...?

I Love (poem)

I love

looking up through the trees

how the leaves change the sky

while little impatiens grow by the porch

the kind breeze touches my bare skin

and old friends ask how I am.

I love

going out so I can come back

how the Saturday afternoon sun

makes angels of it all.

(8/22/2009)