I watch my grandson
 
watching a raven strutting
 
on an autumn fence.

 
 
 

Written in cursive,
 
my letter to my grandson
 
is a dead white rose.

 
 
 

First day of summer—
 
an old man hopes his grandson
 
will bring some ice cream.

Treasure

 
 
 

elusive treasure—
 
my grandson keeps on digging
 
along the seashore

Walk

 
 
 

first week of winter—
 
clutching my grandson’s left hand
 
for our long walk home