Bench

Winter afternoon—

shadows leak from every crack

of a weathered bench.

Vendor

Near the graveyard gate

a flower vendor offers

white chrysanthemums.

Summer cicadas—

I long to hear their chirring

even though snow falls.

rainy winter evening—

still seven more miles to go

until I get home

January blues—

the first leg of my journey

determined by mud

January blues—

the first leg of my journey

determined by snow

Bird at my window,

where did you learn the dark song

that leaks from your throat?

relentless blizzard—

topping off the bird feeder

at nineteen inches

Seeking higher ground,

two turtles near the red fence

slog through winter rain.

Winter afternoon—

seven bedraggled ravens

head into the wind.