It is the last of the night
and the first light of the day
brings wake-up time
to the birds in the bushes;
their songs,
tentative at first
the notes quiet and seeking
take form,
one with the other,
questing and melding,
point and counterpoint
till the moment,
when strong in will
and together in purpose,
the chorus swells
the light brightens
and together they bring
the dawn to a full day

Just look,
my astonished daughter
at this image.
Once I seemed a monstrous being
but look and look again
this is me,
this overgrown hedge
of my beard
and hair
and moustache
the broken nose.
The eyes
peer out and say
this is me.
At that time
you were not even envisioned
and now I am here
in this black and white photo
your father.
Keep me please
I bind you to an unknown past
connected by memory and dna,
this time is yours
if you want.
Just ask

her muzzle shoves snow
sneezing out all the crystals
no snowshoes needed

The wind blows
in the birch tree
Why do I think
of widows at a funeral,
faded and tired.
The leaves too.
soon they will fall
another summer
another year nearly over
I cannot but help feeling
as the leaves fall.
I am a year older

the loon sings
his songs,
the night wind
wafts his plaints
over the black water to us,
sitting on the dock
in the silence
of a Maine Summer night.