I.  Commute

Crumbled red leaves
car edging past the sign
eager to be gone.

Someday I will have
an office with a window.

II. Cubicle

My little walls
a speckled grey nothing
like the crow’s egg;
only high up
one rectangular pane.

III. Communion

At day’s end, light
kindles and burns along
her soft, copper hair.