shadows of black orchids
under a new moon..
the garden disappears



when we stood naked
in the dark
next to the window
and didn't say a word
meteor shower



the grass
thinking up
dandelion poems



when you were the whole wide world
and I was the first one
out of the den



hanging from the monkey bars
watching the rain
fall up



the night
we stayed in bed
all day
and the ferrets slept
in our clothes



I reverse time
until my whiskers turn black
and your closet fills with clothes
and a million flowers
disappear



the cat next door
who doesn't know
what to do
with your old earrings
either



dust
on the strand of pearls
you left on a nail



haiku
I give her
a book of sunrises



cast iron sky
a touch of rust
on the edge of the mountain



when you were
dirty erasers
and I was a clean slate



window full of stars
cold bowl of beans
waiting till I get back




when the water
was so still
I couldn't tell
the trees
from the sky



cherry blossom stains
on the sidewalk
Watertown



how long I waited
for this kiss..
rain in the arroyo



when you told me you loved me
bluejay
at the top of the tree



Albuquerque 3am
gunfire
and the occasional cat



happy
on the inside --
geode



scars on my hands
from catching
falling stars



pine tree
five shades
of bluejay



twelve flats of petunias
she builds herself
a rainbow



when you and I drove
until the sunset
ran out of gas



top of the mountain
where the two-lane
turns to contrails



back porch
killing two pieces of bread
with one bird



for no good reason
for no one in particular..
stars




when I had no change
the blue sky
in the homeless man's eyes



Easter morning
I kiss your nose
then bite off both ears



Rio Grande mud
a patch of sunlight
floating down the river



my uncle's cabin
my father's coffin
scent of pine



snow day
the scent of jasmine
from a woman in the mall



mountain trail
sunrise chickweed
on the way up
wild rose sunset
on the way down




the trail
forgets where it's going
and stumbles past rocks
and old pine trees
until it remembers

black ice
a mail truck
pirouettes



grocery store
a man in an apron
putting away angels



back from the store
I warm my hands
on your giggles



ending as softly
as it started
snow on junipers



watching the wood smoke
turn into clouds
turn into stars



pinpricks in the sky
perforating the darkness
until the night
tears open
and the stars fall down like rain



after your kiss
the sudden shift
in gravity



the day I caught a sunbeam
with my bare fingers
wrapped around yours



middle of the desert
middle of the night
middle of the road
a coyote in the middle
of the moon and me



I follow
a sparrow's tracks
in the dawn snow
all the way
to the sunrise



frozen trough
the horses
drinking sunshine



the maple tree
that was too small
to climb
(and now
I'm too big..)



ten years old
shaking the sun loose
from the top of the tree



tingling
I flick the thought of a spider
from my shoulder



peanut butter crackers
nowhere to go
all night to get there



leaning in my chair
the same way I leaned
in the crook of a tree
waiting for the sound
of my father's car



this falling snow
that shows me the way there
and hides it again



new snow
a coyote
sings a prayer
as the desert
buries her dead



dust to dust
and back again
powdered snow



how I watched you sway
sparrow
on a clothesline



ice blue brushes
painting
a Picasso moon



washing
across the mountain
tsunami of stars



Rio Grande
the morning curls away
with the current



when you were a little green bud
and I was
the middle of February




big wide road of night
so small
these stardust-covered paws



blooming from the bud
of a winter haiku
sakura



February wind
spinning a pinwheel
of stars



melting snow
you can hear the weeds
thinking..



corner cafe
watching the stars
flow from the bow
of the man playing fiddle
for the sunset



weaving its way
through the woods
pathos



wooden fence
a dozen sparrows
doing the Harlem Shake



the word
"chrysanthemum"
blooms from my mouth



laundry on the line
one of the clothespins
singing



bite of jalapeño
melts
the snow



afternoon sun
burying its face
in a sleeping dog's fur



neighbor's dog
telling the mailman
no one's home



new moon
the cold March night
she taught me
not to be afraid
of the dark



melting
down the mountain
crayon yellow sunrise



March wind
Spring winks
and blows me a kiss



half-dressed sun
sitting on the edge
of the bed



black smoke
from a downtown house fire
on Pope street



walking home from school
with the kids
coyote



neighbor's cat
wiggles his ears and looks around..
I meow again



whiskey kisses
Spring and I
wearing a little green

from high in a tree
a squirrel wishes me
a Happy New Year



wearing warm grey flannel
and wet boots --
the outside cat



new snow
I release the snowball
in the freezer
back
into the wild



taking the chill
out of my bones --
your fireplace eyes



the father and son
shoveling snow
the holy ghost
throwing snowballs
at passing cars



new snow
my name
in squiggly yellow letters



third cup of coffee
second pair of gloves --
snow day



new snow
an old crow
shuffles up
to the back fence
and disappears



after a night's growth
the old man's new whiskers --
snow-covered oak



dawn snow
I resist the temptation
to improve on silence



early morning sky
the fireball
that destroyed yesterday



the crow's feet
in the corner
of the snowman's eyes



a little sunshine
on a patch of grass
the snowman's funeral



night snowfall
piles of stars
in the morning



standing
in a garden
of moonflowers
she closes her eyes
and breathes in the light



replacing color
with sparkles --
Winter



ribbons of sunrise
I watch the sky
unwrap herself



Christmas evening
the long-awaited eclipse
of the McDonald's sign



as the homeless man watches
she picks up the quarter
that fell
through the hole
in her heart



the gang colors
on his headband
as he stooped down
to pick up the packages
I had dropped

cracked porch steps
Santa hat
on the pumpkin



cold grey sky
I can hear the snow
thinking



noseprints on the windows
steak from the truckstop
hidden in his pocket



desert winter
I watch the snow stop
before it starts



I tell her
she was the prettiest one.. 
snowflake



not the work
of a serious poet
these words that misbehave
and play outside long after
the streetlights come on



homeless shelter
I watch the wind
stumble and fall



your Calvin and Hobbes smile
I take off
my shoes, too



no sermon today
snow angels
in the church parking lot



from behind the clouds
this dream of you
that woke up as moonlight



my inner child
outside
waiting for snow



on the porch
waiting for the snow
to fix everything



hospital courtyard
the newborn wind cries
for the first time



the sweet conversations
my neighbor and I
had by the fence
until she moved away --
sparrow



meteor shower
we kiss
with our eyes open



so slowly
this new moon returns me
back to life



walking home
listening to the stories
of neighborhood dogs



Newtown
too many angels
on the Christmas trees...



black cat
my loneliness
has a stroke of bad luck



scraping off
a window
inside the window



my grandchildren asleep
the moon and I smile
big and bright
knowing we have come
full circle



winter night
the bones of trees
buried in the snow



first snow
the windchimes
ring like Christmas bells



temple bells
snowmen walking
in orange robes



the way she tilts her head
ever so slightly..
solstice sun



before she shines a word
I tell her
what a beautiful sunrise



coming at me
like a fireball from the sky...
tomorrow

through the long night
the endless murmuring
of dreams and rain



this cup of tea
so quiet
without your hands



the maple leaf
I pressed between the lines
of a haiku



marshmallow clouds
roasting
in sunset



watching crows
jump
into the sky



three small pumpkins
I help
my granddaughters
carve a silly grin
on my face



when I was a pumpkin
you were the candle
inside



warm sunlight
dripping down
the maple trees



plastic bag
barking in the back
of a pickup truck



you are
the first time
I stepped outside



hurricane Sandy
New Yorkers
back up their smartphones



tail-end of the storm
One Way sign
going every which way



yellow porch light
a ghost with shiny red shoes
holds her sister's hand



birthday sunrise
me and the sun
settin' the day on fire



Autumn valley
a mountain sparrow
sings a different song



the night I prayed
until the morning
became the answer



after church
leftover communion bread
for the pigeons



November sunset
in a hurry to get home
and kick off her shoes



when I was nothing but rain
you were the warm fire
inside



dog asleep
I put on my coat
and walk the moon



first morning frost
thin layer of melancholy
covers the back woods



the day you said
you'd marry me
(and we watched the snow stick)



I skip church
to sit in an empty pew
in the park



the sky
feeding me
pigeons



woman wearing a cross
gives a crust of bread
to the pigeons
and a pamphlet
to the homeless man



homeless man
sits down with a slice
of pumpkin sun



biting his head off
after a bad day at work
gingerbread man



unshaven face
the day you smelled like honey
and I growled like a bear



when I was a color
and you kept me
inside the lines



after you tore it in two
how I still
gave you half



kitchen window moon
I rinse the dishes
and put them away
without thinking
at all



after the fight
the rain apologizes
all night long



Autumn
fades
to white



as if there was
no winter or summer
no wind or rain
no here nor there...
sparrow song

the color of the grass
on this side
of the fence



still waiting
for this mountain to move
wild mustard seedlings



back of my apartments
the same nothing
I found in the mountains



I reach down
and awaken
an old piano
out of
a deep sleep



day moon
I imagine
the longest kite string



a million stars on the beach
the riptide
steals them back



end of summer
these warm apples
that taste like sunset



how bright these stars
when I stop to listen
to my heart



your bluebright eyes
still flickering
with flashes of storm



basement window sun
empty mason jars
filled with fire



dirt on the window
where the rain
was playing



flames of black susans
burning down
my neighbor's garage



eyes closed ears underwater
I listen to myself
disappear



my old teddy bear
tells my grandson
all my secrets



this morning
the sun bent down
to pick me up



when I thought
no one was ever happy...
morning sparrows



part lie
part sunshine --
love



flame of moon
burning from the wick
of a pine tree



afternoon sky
no boundaries
but me



butterfly tattoo
fluttering in the moonlight
as we make love



the crackling sound
as the sun falls through branches
to the ground



afternoon pond
watergliders sliding
across the clouds



grasshoppers and I
playing leapfrog
through the weeds




deep within the tree
the shadows
of the shadows of birds



ocean of violets
we float in secret
hidden by waves



crack in the window
where the sunrise
tried to get in



happy sunset
even my autofocus
smiles



these soft pillows
and this blue moon
you were waiting for



on a dead tree
a hundred black leaves --
crows



juniper tree
a cardinal sings
while he packs his bag



middle of the day
these dreams of you giggle
and jump on my bed



my poem
tells all her friends
I don't understand her



then God colored
the silence blue --
empty sky



high up in the leaves
further than the cat can climb
September wind



the tail of my secrets
slips through the fence
and disappears



I find myself on a leaf
and hold me
in my hand



in the closet
my restless
winter coat



ferret
gives me
a lapdance



when I was the rain
and you were the first tongue
I found



the mud on my shoes
that remembers
being a mountain



a spider and I
dangling
from the strongest nothings



the sad things I write
she smiles them
upside-down and inside-out



just as I was giving up
a dog with three legs
drops a ball
at my feet
and stares



the woman who couldn't cry
painting
in watercolors



when you stopped calling
and I was
just half a secret



walking you
off my mind...
how these street lights blur



last one
out of Summer
turns off the fireflies



the glowing embers
of deep red roses
as Summer burns away



I write a haiku
and stir it
into my coffee



the sound
of grasshoppers
going home



making love in the garden
a little dirt caked
on your tomatoes



rainwater birdbath
a bluejay dries his wings
with the sky



when you picked up the pieces
and forgot the one
that was me



coal sky
new moon
crushed into diamonds



my mind
weaving
in traffic



the pastor's dog
playing in the church
of sun and trees



no explanation
from God
just sparrows



I am
a heart-stringed
instrument



no reason at all
the sky
the leaves
and I
change



the brightest shade
of black --
new moon



drunken night wind
lonely
and angry about it



butterfly petals
hanging
from the wings of roses



one Autumn breeze
and Summer
goes airborne

you and I
roasting marshmallows
with nothing but stars



red-tailed hawk
staying up
all night



miles and miles
down this desert highway
until the stars swell
and burst
into silence



you are
when the birds sing
all night long



waiting with me
at the bus stop
morning star



neighbor's dog
tells the wind
a thing or two



desert sand
I walk in reverence
across the bones of stars



these clouds
waiting to see which shape
I will take next



poem
(no place else
to put these stars)



ten years old
flying through the weeds
with the grasshoppers



the burn on my hand
where I tried
to stop time



sunshine
sleeping at the bottom
of the pool



sparrow
shaking the sun
out of her tail



an old moonbeam
I found
in the garage



quiet playground
Wind plays by herself
on the swingset



sunbeam on my shoulder
God has remembered me
today



old homeless man
and a thunderstorm
arguing about something



cricket
silence...
crickets



listening
to the sound of traffic
turning into stars



I find a rusted tin cup
still filled
with sunrise



coyote night-walking
in the ghosts
of rivers



the canyon of you
the deepest
I've ever gone



when I was the path
you were the river
that changed my direction



no breeze
all the dandelions
thinking



hummingbird
drinking the last few drops
of sunset



how slowly the rain says your name
until even the thunder
stops to listen



dripping down my face
I rain you
out of me



raven
walking
in the sky



Sunday twilight
the entire lake filled
with holy water



you are
the shortest crayon
in my box



where I asked God
all those questions...
patch of wildflowers



the sky
puts on her moon face
and makes love to me
last quarter
stars down low



those things you said
you didn't mean
(that still were)



cloudburst
where there used to be dust
reflections



shadows
where her curves
change direction



clothespin birds
sleeping
on the line



you are the moss
forever growing
on the rock of me



summer breeze
feathered clouds
puffs of birds



when I was waiting
for the dawn...
the rain



street art
the designs and colors
on a downtown butterfly



half my life
drawing
the line
half my life
erasing it



bluejay
feathers streaked
with sky



the scar on my hand
where I cut myself
thinking



under the moon
a sunrise of marigolds
glowing

thumb out
on the side
of a dirt road
sunflower
hitching a ride



bank of the river
cottonwood tree
soaking her feet



waiting for you
on the longest day
of the year
(Summer solstice)



sunrise moon
sleeping
on the roof



cat shining in a tree
moon sitting
in the window



you were
the maple leaf I found
under the elm tree



tarot clouds
my future decided
by the wind



sand on my fingers
from where I wrote your name
my feet wet
with the ocean
that washed it away



the sun
winds up a white butterfly
then lets it go



all the stars
the color
of silence



I step outside
to take my turn
guarding the mountain
while the moon
gets some sleep



mountain walk
Christmas trees
five inches tall



twilight
river of blackbirds
in the sky



the sparrow
that wasn't there
a second ago



desert storm
juniper trees shaking their fists
at the moon



ferret sleeping
tail draped over
the crescent moon



stars
in their stocking feet
freshly-waxed moon



waxing moon
all the reasons time
slips away



the dawn
breaking
into rain



a leaf jumps
from sun-burnt weeds --
grasshopper



burning down the barn
one sunbeam
at a time...



red-tail hawk
the sound of cloud
against cloud



all rivers
start
in heaven



ducks dancing
to the music
of tires on rain



hidden in the grass
hissing at the sun --
garden hose

after the rain
the rust-colored feathers
of a robin



June bugs
still
dreaming



sparkle in the water
where a dragonfly
fell



white moth
asks
the next flower



petals
falling from the moon --
white moths



hummingbird
flashing past the porch light
back into darkness



the deep dark red of my heart
roses
in starlight



up for hours
watching the night
fade to you



I give my rage
to the sky
where it becomes
such a tiny
thing



these open hearts
lined up along the walk --
petunias



up on the doghouse
barking a little closer
to the moon



waves of you
sandcastle
of me



the way the rain
and my dreams stop
(so I will remember...)



jumping down the steps
no hand on the rail --
butterfly



warm shower
all your fingerprints
gone



no temple bells
in this neighborhood
I listen
to the sparrows
ringing...



stone dragon
breathing sunset
at passing cars



high above my head
a hummingbird
races twilight home



stems in the sky
where you cut
the prettiest stars



I turn off the porch light
and release the moths
back to the night



when the crickets stop...
the sound of cicadas
digging their way out



bats circling
around the streetlight
trying to catch the moon