Grey clouds, wet, brute wind
Spewing cold torment, abort
Spring's new born blossoms

If I could store away
the beauty of Autumn
like a squirrel collecting nuts,
I could harvest the charity
of nature's grace and beauty.
I could fold away, within
my core, my love for the
easy air and the smell
of sweet forests and burning leaves.
Each icy day of gray Winter
could unravel my bundle
of happiness a little bit
until it was all used up
and Winter was through.
Then Spring could restore me.
It could remind me of warmth
and life and the color of leaves
when they are first birthed
from their mother trees.
Yes, if I could store away
my happiness in Autumn,
the Winter could be easy.

Spring mornings
In a sunny cemetery
Watching your farmer's hands.
As you talk about the earth
And the music of life
We eat our breakfast.
You will instruct me on
The importance of silence.
That music is the stillness
Between our sounds.
That life is the soft breathing
Between our footsteps.

These lonely, driving nights
A teal blue sky fades to black
A dinner plate moon
Hanging crazed in the sky
I feel strangely full
Like I can go anywhere
On the fuel in my heart

Some days
Sundays mostly
I feel separate from time
A cold leg
A sun-warm shoulder
Roadkill on the passing lane
Quiet
Empty streets
The smell of dust and sunshine
And thoughts of nothing
Not empty
Not full
A bleach-white church
Against a February-blue sky
Evergreens
And dead oaks
Tangling ***** and muddy
How can those boards
Look so clean?

A grocery store at 2am on Tuesday
Is as beautiful as the forest
On October 26th.
As much an oasis
As the chain of lakes.

I love the quiet spaces
I love the empty places
Where I can pretend
I'm looking at the ghost
Of mankind long since passed.

On a long stretch of country road
Driving on the last tank of gas.
Sun-bleached canary-yellow lines
Will never be repainted.
But, god, they are beautiful.

My childhood is void of people.
There's a filter in my memories.
Color and light and temperature,
But never any sound
And very little movement.

The photographs in my album:
The sherbet-colored sky.
A chain link fence and gravel alley.
The warmth of the light.
The size of my hands.