Afternoon

an old farmers sink-
her mind miles away from the
blood in the carpet
–
back garden soil-
no amount of soap
makes her feel clean

under summer stars-
in the fading moonlight she
could almost be you
–
iron skies-
across the piazza
you become the crowd

vultures overhead-
circling waiting before
feasting on the dead
–
red skies-
a tempest
at our door

soaring red-tailed hawks-

below veiled skies verdant trees

emerge from the mist

–

between the clouds

and the cut grass-

a wounded crow

shadows of small flags-
with a bouquet of flowers
she runs to your grave
–
mourning doves-
the young man
on the mantle

covered in lichens-
a tall and stately oak tree
sheds its dead branches
–
thin mountain air-
all my baggage
suddenly empty

a chorus of birds-
greening trees cast shade across
our secret meadow
–
slating sunlight-
motes of dust
defy gravity

dripping maple leaves-
raucous jays chase each other
through the sun shower
–
sunlit paving stones-
light rain ripples
transient puddles

dusting the knickknacks-
doing my best to ignore
the crumbling walls
–
afternoon light-
fresh paint on
cracked concrete

the first day of may-
tight buds become blossoms on
my crabapple tree
–
a flush of new green-
daffodils trumpet
the first of may