around the redbud tree
the sleepy daffodils
are beginning to wake up
and poke fragile arms
out toward the sky

a life incredible, vivid, excellent.
around the redbud tree
the sleepy daffodils
are beginning to wake up
and poke fragile arms
out toward the sky
that winter was one of walking
of stalking the sunset’s glow
to the western road and then
watching the fire fade from the treetops
before shrugging home in the dusk
the sultry summer air hangs low and close
while the cottonwood down lazes toward the grass
the bees are at the milkweed
buzzing into the pale purple blooms
with an industry that makes me sweat just to watch them
midway up the hill
the neighbor’s weeping fig
is dressed for spring
a gown of bridal white blossoms
shielding leafless branches.
if i had any rage i took it out on the lily bed and its web of ingrown roots the fruit of thirty years of spawning tigers i scythed and hoed, slicing through sod separating innumerable worms from their other ends and cleaving through the rusty orange roots that choked the ground until, at last,…
Read Morethe sharp blade pierced the greening grass
and shovelfuls of soil revealed wakened worms
shrinking away from the light
ten trees arrived in the mail today
their tender trunks scarcely more than twigs
but already I was imagining the bank
of white blossoms in the spring —
hawthorne, dogwood, crab —
and the pale hellebores i’d bought
that would start blooming in the snow
this morning we awoke to a film of frost
sparkling on the grass
as fickle spring once more laughed
in our foolish faces
this could be the last spring, he said
with a wary look in the over-keen eyes
that peered out from beneath his ball cap brim
all the flowers in the wild garden
have yielded their spirits to autumn’s chill
and become dry brown ghosts, their seeds
falling out of cracked heads and cones