The next-door neighbors,
 
just home from Cuba, kindle
 
a fresh fire of oak.

 
 
 

The mercury drops—
 
I reach for another log
 
to lay on the fire.

 
 
 

What is in the wind
 
that makes the raven shudder
 
and the plum tree bloom?

 
 
 

On my neighbor’s fence
 
a dove begins in earnest
 
to call to her mate.

 
 
 

Under the plum tree
 
a puddle from last night’s rain
 
becomes a birdbath.

 
 
 

Midwinter scandal—
 
in the falling snow, my plum
 
begins to blossom!

 
 
 

Looking for the inn
 
where happiness flourishes—
 
how many more miles?

 
 
 

My neighbor’s plum tree
 
snaps under the weight of snow—
 
four weeks until spring.

 
 
 

after the last click
 
of wooden rosary beads:
 
prayers with no answers

 
 
 

Long before daybreak,
 
an owl in the backyard oak
 
tells me its secrets.