from the eaves
an occasional drip
closer to spring
unpicked flowers
I gather a bouquet
only in my mind
sunlit yard
snow clumps on branches
poised to fall
stepping stones
between each tuft of grass
—equinox
please Lord let me go
at Eastertide when graveyards
begin to flourish
when signs of new life bring
more visitors than before
one more thought
before it’s bedtime—
to douse the lights
lest tonight I may miss
my very last star
my eyes close
to the cadence of rain
on a skylight
a much cleaner world
when they reopen
