in winter the trees
show their secrets

a life incredible, vivid, excellent.
in winter the trees
show their secrets
the sister sycamores were waiting
in the wood this afternoon
at the little grey house on the corner
the spirea has begun to bloom,
delicate white blossoms creeping mistily down its long, slender branches.
after weeks of dry weather —
or merely a tease of moisture in the form of fog
or snow or sleet or drizzle —
the spring skies have finally broken open
new green leaves unfurl tentatively from last year’s dry brown canes
Read Morethe rain hits the pavement with a steady splash
and shafts of lightning forewarn of thunder’s uneasy rumble
the winds scrapes rough on bleaching bone
and the whitened trunks of weathered trees
the fog hides in the hollows
Read Morein the poppy bed
there’s a stubborn weed
i never can seem to kill
midway up the hill
the neighbor’s weeping fig
is dressed for spring
a gown of bridal white blossoms
shielding leafless branches.