Well
at the old stone well
I peer into the darkness
looking back at me
–
moss covered stone-
I dip my bowl into
the well of souls
Category Archives: Winter
Time
reaching for your hand
I would touch you if only
I could turn back time
–
under the oak tree-
lost in our
history
Sparks
warm potbellied stove-
the winter air crackles with
electricity
–
dry night air-
your touch
shocking
Abed
the wan morning light-
wrapped up in your nakedness
unwilling to move
–
your damp hair-
for now I’m
the big spoon
Love
empty wine bottles-
binging our favorite series
into the wee hours
–
dying embers-
our feet under
the afghan
Anticipation
at the podium
a wool blanket wraps itself
around my tongue
–
summer sun-
snowy cotton
waiting for harvest
Flowers
the clouds and your eyes-
my head in your lap amid
a field of daisies
–
a dry vase-
tired blooms
bow their heads
Snow
dark grey winter clouds
heavily laden with snow
loom over this town
–
winter sunrise-
shallow paw prints
in the snow
Argument
this fight is over
and yet I find myself still
walking on eggshells
–
fallen trees-
we drive home
in silence
Stream
by a forest stream
above the frogs and crickets-
winter stars appear
–
late spring thaw-
fox kits cross
a fallen oak