For It Is Spring

Snow floats
quietly on evening
vanishing before
hitting ground;

April’s cruel joke
on crocus and daffodil
huddle shivering
under baby's blanket;

sluggish earth
absorbs icy dew
quenching tubers’
winter thirst;

for it is spring.

Little Pink Houses

And I fell in love all over again
Listenin’ to a rock n‘ roll station;
I met my own boy from Indiana who thought-
ain’t that America, we’re something to see baby.

Smart as a whip and head full of dreams,
I blushed, "Boy, you're gonna be president."
I’d slide next to him on the worn leather seat
when he’d pick me up in his Cadillac Brougham,
I would swim in the blue of his eyes as
he whispered in my ear pulling me closer,
"Hey darling, I can remember that you could stop a clock."

And there’s winners, and there’s losers
and I’ve lost him to all these years
But they ain't no big deal ‘cause I am still
Listenin’ to a rock n‘ roll station
and I can hear his tender promise
Little pink houses, babe, for you and me.

Warm Keeps Better Company Than Cold

Cold companion,
black evening
sits unwelcomed,
draperies shut
tight against
icicle'd panes,
wintry whistles
rattle tea cups,
tepid water
sits undisturbed.

minutes are hours
tripping seconds
spent in quiet,
numbing senses;
I feel nothing-
even no one
fails to produce
relief from self.

Some months ago,
the open door
framed leaves budding
against a blue
languorous sky,
lazy sunlight
settled on sills
disturbing dust,
its warmth pulling
stiff out of me.

Cockled company,
the heart beats deep,
leaving no point
alone to fend
for its lonesome
during springtime
or summer solstice.

Time Change

The sun hit the room in a sideways slant
the first day that clocks turned back;
I sat at my desk staring out the window
listening to the quiet of the afternoon
letting its mellow rays penetrate me;
I forgot the drive home would be dark.

I take it all in at once never leaving
holding on to every chance making
it impossible to let go and be alone.

If you were my friend, you’d love me,
not later, not forever, not before,
but in the quiet of the autumn sun
when the dark isn’t a consideration

and the hour is twice as long.

Closed Door

Light peers through the
door soundly closed,
dust picks up breeze
squeezing underneath
to rummage across
a cold wood floor.

Though deadbolted,
stoically built against
elements, something still
manages to squeeze
into the room where
I am not with him.

Before prohibitive entry
the only separation
between hearth and sky
was a screen door
that filtered fresh air
in, and kept bugs out.

What slammed the door
is hard to identify precisely,
imperceptible swings
from a forever consideration
to just help me get through
ultimately shut me out.

Back up against it,
conversation suspended,
the quiet takes over
leaning hard on me;
I’m done with trying,
nothing’s left to open.

Interstate 55 on an Autumn Eve

Horizon flushed
as her sun left,
hitting the field
hard in exit;

longer night falls
to cool warm sky,
Indian sun
soaked tired fields.

Cicada’s last
dog day swan song
hustles farmers
to beat first frost-

in rush of wings,
black birds fly low
picking over
corn combine’s dust.

Pink reflection
settles to soothe
the shorter day
summer left us.


Day drags into night
light still peaking in
through the window

dark cold thoughts
settle like icicles
hanging on gutters

you wouldn’t know
that it’s summer
and the air is easy

droplets don’t hit
snow on impact
nor frozen asphalt

they evaporate to
dusk that settles
comfortably, slowly

my mind shuts tight
brain freeze sting
I can’t hold it.