Thursday, March 2, 2017

The Garden Path

My yard—so fully there, so walked over. This willow, this view, every day in every light. Weeping, tarped, still bare, nothing to disappoint.


Wednesday, March 1, 2017

Stopping by

A long time gone: the past settling, vaguer. Suites of seasons, rivers, poems, skies, quiet rooms. Upheavals, of earth and lives. A lost earring. Wanting to have had can be kept like a pressed leaf, colors intact at the end of winter, but no longer as needed.