a wire hanger
bent out of shape
long winter

snow falling
all the dark morning he tries
to write his name

just in case—
brushing the fresh snow
from the windowsill

Vultures scavenging on field ice—
catching myself
before I lie

meadow speaking the language she dreams in

marsh warbler
a ditty picked up
in Uganda

first bulbs a man explains Marxism to his son

in a room
with no windows
drawing stars

fallen oak
its underside
almost earth

winding road
for the next eight miles
Coltrane

crescent moon
a bone carver sings
to his ancestors

end of summer
the rust on my scissors
smells of marigolds

neighbour’s white cat
he always looks puzzled
when I meow to him

sparrow song—
my friend laughing
in all the wrong places

barbed wire another country

elder in leaf
her ungloved hand
slips into mine

winter arrives early I tie Mom’s shoes in double knots

on the train
no longer in a hurry
to get anywhere

spring dream . . .
slipping my wings
into a work shirt

rock paper scissors war

the answer is yes no yes breaking waves

remembrance day
I tell my father
about his father

breaking
far too easily
daisy chain

half empty
half full
half lotus

did I tell you
more than you could bear?
winter hyacinth

a brook
growing louder
wild violets

just please how to forgive spring rain

moonlight . . .
our newborn’s tears
fill my breasts

tulip festival
migrant workers
pull the weeds

rough sleeper
his bench almost catches
the morning sun