The leaves had fallen in the grove,
Red, pale yellow, copper and mauve;
I raked them up in a heaping pile,
Then leaned upon the rake a while
To contemplate my work--
Joy and sorrow, pleasure and strife--
A pile of leaves, the days of my life.

I thought I might not last 'til spring:
If only I could sleep the season
Curled up like a leaf;
When the snow had melted down
I'd come back like a flower,
Bright and joyous, ready to live,
Fresh and new again.  

But now was the time to face the months
That buried things under the snow.
In February just a little ****
Was all you'd see on the floor of the grove:
The leaves would be resting there
While I struggled in the biting air
And snowflakes stung the skin left bare.

But the winter I survived
To find the wild flowers that bloom
Under hardwoods not yet green.
I've had  another spring to roam,
Watched the leaves turn green again
And written down this poem.

On our summer lawn you lie curved,
Like a snake warming in the sun;
When I turn on the spigot at mid-day
How hot thy water doth run!

Sometimes you're hooked to a sprinkler,
Where the kids ran when they were small;
We wonder: where did the time go?
And just can't remember at all.

To our home by the river you came
And reached where the vegetables grew;
You watered them gently all season,
Out back, where the blue heron flew.

Gashed by the mower's cruel blade
You leaked: we thought you were gone:
But I got the parts to save you--
Thank heaven for Aubuchon.

Shorter, old friend, always there,
We still bring you in from the cold
To your special place under the work bench,
To store you in neat coils rolled.

Stretched out full length on the blacktop,
I raise one end towards the sky
And drain the last water inside you
To put you away, safe and dry.

I pray as I wind you in autumn
The dark winter we will survive;
My heart is already yearning
For springtime to come back alive.  

To water our plants on the north side,
To feed the cedar hedge row,
To wash winter sand from the driveway,
Left by the last melting snow.  

So sleep well, companion of years
In your circle there on the floor;
My the freezing days pass us by quickly,
May we join you for one season more.

It was fall when I fell for you
Gazing at hillsides of varied hue,
Red-headed girls in saffron dresses
Coming to give me hugs and kisses,
Moving in droves from outcrops and ridges
Crossing the valleys and brooks without bridges.

You of all were most fair,
Your hair
Piled like clouds at sunrise,
Passion and excitement fierce
Burnt in your gray-blue eyes,
Particles of light aglow
Surrounded you in a mist
That totally enveloped me
Every time we kissed.

Now, you tease me like a breeze
And hear what I don't say
I throw my troubles in your fire:
They're gone
And joy remains.

I found her under my bed,
the way I imagine little kids find monsters
or mothers find empty pill bottles
she was shaking
the last time I saw her we were both
hiding under the bed but summer came,
I let it's warmth into my frozen body
and forget that the sun harvested
poison berries.
I escaped but she stayed, told me that
I would find her once again
here we are.
I could see the goosebumps along her arm
and asked her
why are you so cold
she smiled,
the kind of smile where her lips curl at the ends
and her teeth are hidden
don't you know it's winter?
I glanced at the sky and saw the snow fall.
I guess it is winter after all.

Today the high was sixty degrees
and I know what that means.
I feel foolish to have thought
that maybe this time
just maybe
it would leave me be,
and it almost did.
But I could feel it wash over me,
like a tidal wave of affliction
wrapping it's arms around me
rocking me to sleep
and reminding me how much
it feels like home.
It was building up inside of me,
bound to take over,
and now it's ready to explode.
This is the first you'll see of it,
and certainly not the last.
I hope to god
that you can handle
what it entails,
and I wonder how long
it will last this time.

It always happens this way.
same time, every year,
when the leaves burn red and descend from their perches.
same feeling, like I could be anyone else
but myself.
I could be you,
you’re getting older in a city you now call home,
and thinking of you happy
makes my stomach turn.
Maybe I’m jealous.
Maybe I’m guilty.
Either way, I can still hear your voice
saying something casually poetic
while our unspoken words made me sick.
I’d like to think that every part of you has left me,
and that it’s been long enough to say we never even touched.
And I still can’t decide who the victim really was,
when you’re out there living,
and I’m only pretending.

he seasons come,
And the seasons go,
The seasons ebb,
And the seasons flow.

The spring green hue,
The rich autumn gold,
The clear summer blue,
The grey winter cold.

The changing mask
Of our Mother Earth,
Winter her death,
And spring her re-birth.

Spring starts the tune,
Autumn beats the time,
Summer sings the song,
Winter blows the chime.

The seasons change,
Yet all stay the same,
Nature’s illusion;
Her own magic game.

The seasons come,
And the seasons go,
The seasons ebb,
And the seasons flow ...