i never can remember what comes after
the path into the pines, whether
the trail loops back to its beginning
or winds even deeper into the woods.

a life incredible, vivid, excellent.
i never can remember what comes after
the path into the pines, whether
the trail loops back to its beginning
or winds even deeper into the woods.
the bees are at the zinnias,
fuzzy bodies buzzing
among pink-freckled petals
the first tulip bloomed today,
golden as butter,
and i wished i could show you
its delicately frilled petals
in winter the trees
show their secrets
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 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