A crow in the oak
 
manages to croak out news
 
of a baby’s birth.

 
 
 

Cold December rain—
 
perhaps someone with good news
 
will knock at my door.

 
 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
do you bring good news today?
 
If not, go away!

 
 
 

Labor Day’s bad news:
 
ashes from a nearby fire
 
rain down on my car.

 
 
 

Winter evening rain—
 
to hear the pitter-patter,
 
I turn off the news.

 
 
 

Good Friday, bad news:
 
The pandemic still rages
 
and the death toll mounts.

 
 
 

Autumn’s first good news:
 
every window is intact
 
after the earthquake.

 
 
 

On the evening news
 
reports of robins appear—
 
eighteen days till spring.

Breakfast

 
 
 

another breakfast
 
shoveled in between sound bites
 
from the morning news

Wing

 
 
 

first thin skein of geese—
 
even the Alzheimer’s wing
 
unwinds with the news