White rose in November blooming
As if you cannot wait for the snow,
as if you open wide now to remind us
to prepare for any kind of weather,
to carry our burdens lightly
so we too might dare to bloom
if given just half a chance.
Faith
Tiny voles nibble roots,
hollow out caverns, even upturn trees.
While the meadow —
arms open wide to sky, vast distance —
whispers softly the word love.
Off I-57 at night
I know now
that I have seen the curve
of Earth —
the slow breeze of the prairie
beckons round the other side.
Morning walk
This morning
I yearned to become
that yellow leaf
twirling down, catching an edge
of the sun spinning past.
Laundry day
I set my cloth
before your garden
and wait
for your breath to heave,
wash through the yard.
A thought in early spring
We are reckless, lost,
then forgiven,
by the earth covered on end
with unbounded buds
swelling on thawing branches.