Shadows on the Grass

in the cellar

of my old home,

butterflies

pinned in a cigar box . . .

one by one I let them go

all the bits 

and pieces of myself

I’ve left behind . . .

oak and willow set new buds

before the old leaves fall

folding the map 

with its worn creases 

I follow 

an unknown path . . . 

the shimmer of small wings

striding

toward the winter solstice

arm in arm

with the death crone . . .

flowers spring up at her feet

      ~Ribbons 10:1, Winter 2014

arrested

arrested
for reading aloud after curfew
the names of the dead . . .
how far their voices carry
in the dark

       ~Atlas Poetica 17, March 15, 2014

IQ testing 
of an inmate
on death row—
a pencil hovers 
over the final question

       ~A Hundred Gourds 3:3, June 2014

city lights

plastered
on corrugated metal,
this enormous eye . . .
I enter the city
through its lake of light

       ~Atlas Poetica 17, March 2014

bumping fists,
two homeless men
unfold their cardboard
messages of need . . .
the lone poem in my pocket

       ~Atlas Poetica 17, March 2014

sunflowers

           a phone rings
           changing everything
           I rearrange
           the sunflowers bowing
           in a pewter pitcher


                         ~GUSTS 17, spring/summer 2013 

birthday morning

on stems
crusty with lichens,
blueberries 
ripening—
birthday morning

   ~GUSTS 18, Fall/Winter 2013


shutter speed
too slow to catch
the gloss
of falling water. . .
my sixty-fourth year

   ~Skylark 1:2, winter 2013