March pulls out the seeds
from the field of dried seed husks —
the sun dazes us.

Branches in winter,
lichen like a green tattoo,
a true love, announced.

Red-winged blackbirds call
in the March afternoon snow —
lichen blooms bright green.

Fathers and brothers —
some get lost in the tangle,
in the woods alone.

Many moons ago,
sunlight lit all of the grass,
I dreamed while awake.

The late Sunday light
falls in these confiding woods,
making blue shadows.

Two deer cross, four wait,
the color of the forest,
gesture like a kiss.

Even in Winesburg,
dawn skies don’t have the answers —
people grow lonely.

Geese rejoice for these
pools forming from melted snow,
reflecting blue sky.

In this darkest time,
we walk and look at cattails,
read poems out loud.

This time of bad news,
snowmelt freezes in hard pools
that look like the moon.

The window turns pink —
dawn in late February,
rain coming all day.

Not quite spring pools yet —
just a February thaw,
woodpeckers drumming.

I dreamed of a bird
hurt, who turned into a cat,
moon on each wing.

The small comfort of
repairing favorite things,
pieces on the floor.

The confiding path —
we loop through the blue forest,
wild things everywhere.

The woods are all tracks
leading to the cold river
in blue-shadowed-snow.

Mute swan in winter,
she’ll take company of ducks
in the cold river.

The past is contained
in words, houses, and people —
visiting in dreams.

The light starts to fade,
golden across the river —
deer stand still, hidden.