Quiet Morning, March 24

 

You’re painting in the kitchen

as John Denver sings his misty, old love songs

while by the shed

spring flowers burst into red and purple and white,

as the March sun rises and grief declines

to memory.

So here I write, our dogs

nuzzled close and warm

and contented.

North Wind

 North wind 

rushes and blusters

in the bright March sun,

scatters 

winter’s chill,

hints of the heat 

to come.

In Arching Waters

In arching waters

the black bird dances

with graceless step,

head jerks, probing soft soil,

penetrating wet grass

when rearing back primitive eyes

it raises ivory beak

and offers a shining prize,

living, writhing.

captive

to mother-sky.

(4/28/12)