a silver hair
woven into the nest
winter light

distant thunder
a line of footprints still
escaping the waves

a tinge of blue
in the hare's footprints
winter moon

middle aged
a few more wrinkles
in the suit

to say grace —
a whiff of grandma's timbre
in my voice

old jazz record
a scratch
                      improvises

Zen garden —
snow melts
in raked patterns

one petal’s rain
         falls to another
    then another

my atlas bones…
the crushing scent
of home cooking

deep snow 
I step into footprints 
going the other way

ground zero into the new friend's story

virgin snow
a fox makes prints
for the morning

an Elvis stamp
on the sympathy card . . .
autumn dusk

long day . . .
    the shadow
of an answer

cicada husk ...
also clinging
to a straw

memorial wall my son’s name carved on sirens

silver wedding . . .
taste of the wild raspberries
still sweet and tart

cobalt sky
grandma’s name misspelled
in granite

snow upon snow
the layers of oblivion
in my father's mind

autumn wind 
the slant in the handwriting 
of my former self

am I to be the words no more

clouds drift . . .
the trail of a rain drop
on a dirt covered leaf

PTSD —
this one daisy,
the world

petal by petal the yellow rose on her inner thigh

desert sunrise
smell of rain outlives
the rain

the shortcut
the school children take —
a new layer of leaves matted into the old

first date
the wedding ring’s mark
hidden in a glove

lingering 
among golden leaves 
the fragrance of summer

following the frequencies of civilizations one snail one pen

early thaw —
the earth tugging
at my footsteps