earth from space . . .
and here I am
dotting an i
walking away . . .
the loam that clings
to my boot cleats
sickle moon—
a pill to stop
my milk coming in
year-round strawberries . . .
I’ve begun to miss
missing you
catkin breeze . . .
the puppy softly whimpers
chasing a dream
lingering moon . . .
the bleats of one valley
answered by the next
fumbled kiss . . .
a bee finagles pollen
from a hollyhock
something
you’re not telling me . . .
camellia buds
the clank
of the flagless halyard
first spring alone
skeins of mist . . .
I wind a memory
from mother’s hands