pausing over twin washboards
a migrant wife’s eyes
lifted to the moon

wind along the beach
an abandoned shoe
slowly fills with sand

new home 
the junk store lamp
looks trendy

war and the rumors
   of war – still the routine
       of bee and clover

  favorite old song:
young again if only
    for a moment

roadside chiles—
bagging my order the man
invites me to live here

a crowded café
stock market quotations
mouthed by loud men

gently falling snow—
a child whispers to Kris Kringle
and holds out his hand

drizzle
letting old memories
in

pocket change
my son’s birth year
on a penny

ghost town jail—
from the desert heat
there is no escape

            dusk
the shape of autumn
       in the wind

old stories—
helping grandmother
rewind her yarn

October moon—
a werewolf kisses
Cleopatra

nursing home
an unfinished mitten
still on the needles

crisis center:
toddler clutches
a fistful of fist

sleeping in . . .
that big white cloud
out the window

Pure spring water:
without taking a drink
my thirst is quenched

clouddrift—
a mockingbird changes
its song

getting up
the nerve to find out—
electric fence

i burp onions—
the long night
of winter

winter wedding
a church not chosen
for its looks

they never worry
where to park around the church
—city songbirds

August evening—
summer turns to fall
with the leaves

           England
      sheep grazing
among gravestones

summer’s end
a neighbour’s tree
divides the moon

summer—
the gentle way
you touch my hand

almost winter
the loneliness
of a waning moon

midwinter
an empty hearse passes
the lily pond

closing time
bartender collects empties
filled with stories