goldfinch breeze…
the sense of losing
what I never had
waft of meadowsweet
the whitethroat airs
its song
sometimes the music
sometimes the words . . .
plum blossoms
paintbrush upturned
just as the small child left it . . .
first crocus
hint of spring
the better world
through my dog’s eyes
rising sun . . .
the fawn’s bed of meadowsweet
unfolds from the dew
still floating
on still waters
cherry petals
the weight
of a growing shadow
cemetery walk
fasting and praying mantis
on a billboard
the currency
of self-worth