Now an August chill,
a presentiment of Winter,
shakes the deep green leaves
of all illusion
and all’s confusion
for fledging birds Continue reading “August Chill”
“I’m fine,” the robin said.
The world was snow-muffled.
The night was like the day. Continue reading “The Offer”
The last butterfly
lies folded in the tool shed
ready for next Spring.
When the snow came it filled the empty streets
and lay white pillows under the wheels of cars,
jamming them up to sleep. It spread sheets over chimneys
as if over noses. It made an old man fall. Continue reading “Snow and Civilization”
Robin’s found his lyrics;
flexes all his toes.
Sings! This little heart-throb.
Sings! The season’s rose. Continue reading “The Season’s Rose”