different smells
at my old house —
and the hollyhocks are gone
yesterday was yard sale day —
my neighbor's leftovers
still left over
startling
the way they take off —
cat among the pigeons
crossing the driveway —
a green apple in your mouth —
silly squirrel
Sunday lunch —
she cooks my grandma's chicken
she has my grandma's hands
standing under a broken cloud
your past becomes
my future
purple grapes
hold tight to the vine —
your last uneasy slumber
dear tree, your leaves have left you —
I hang paper lanterns
from your beautiful limbs
hours
from the ocean's waves
our bodies still rocking
neighbor's old toilet
out on the curb —
curious cat climbs in
my neighbor's new roof —
exactly the home
these pigeons were waiting for
chalked on an icy sidewalk
1 to 24 —
wait! "3" is missing
up and down the street
parking tickets flap
reproachfully
this evening
waiting for the sun to set —
neither of us in a hurry
if I tell you I can hear you
you might stop —
so I don't say a word
and you continue humming
as you walk from room to room
from a distance
all birds are bald eagles
to me
analyzing their front steps:
capsized trolls, shrunken pumpkins —
are my neighbors depressed?
gap-toothed girl
beneath a purple umbrella —
laughing into the rain
these long winter evenings
we listen to the moon
we listen to the stars
we listen to the beat
of our own hearts
2 turtles
watching 2 women
watching them —
time moves slowly
Solstice Moon
longest night of the year —
let's play hide and seek in the dark
waking from a deep sleep
all is changed —
winter solstice
first snow
someone left an apple
on top of the corner mailbox
can you remember tomorrow?
it is as far away as five billion years ago
and just as unlikely
paper butterflies
hang at the front door
reminder to tread lightly
strands of glass beads
in the window —
welcome back sun!
morning walk
passing your old house —
what close friends we used to be
insomnia —
even after solstice
such long nights
anticipating a big storm
I rush out
to the library
striking the brass bell
to welcome the snow —
last Thursday morning of the year
flower shop window
a droopy begonia
the start of winter
sleeping late these mornings
dreaming my way
into a new year
winter garden
shadows and ghosts
flit among the swaying pines
across the room
her gentle snoring —
I am content today
we are of two minds
she and I —
a spider's fate hangs in the balance
at the window —
hour after after —
yes it is still snowing
eucalyptus overwhelms the kitchen
beans stick, toast burns —
the snow continues to fall
long weekend —
tangerines turn soft —
still, the purple asters bloom
