our home shares the street

with a cool residing wind

that thrives in winter make-believe



and an isolated tall black tree

that stands like brush stroke speak

that can be admired for its figure-its fluidity



the birds erupt from its branches

heralding on the back of beauty, the dew-

it will always find its place as frost



I’m always looking for a sign of life

mostly on afternoon rides- singing alone

is that you parked, are you home?