Home From Walking

Entering kitchen, glasses fog up

cold nose and cheeks throb with heat

unwinding scarf, noticing

dishes, papers, laundry.

The last half hour I’ve been far away --

this room is a foreign land.

River of Wind

River of wind

rushing through the pine tops,

in the garden the wind chime

swings like a fishing lure.

Sitting on a Hillside in February

At the house the thermometer reads 20ºF,

here hour-old sun reaches between pines

exorcising frost from fallen needles.

On flatish ground above a boulder

my daypack becomes a make-do zafu

I sit gloves off, jacket hanging open, 

morning’s radiance a roiling glory

soaking through closed eyelids. 

Vacant Winter Greenhouse

On the corner of the cedar slat work bench

a cobalt bottle glints in the sun’s final rays,

a dusty spider web hammock

wafts sine waves in the window corner.

Cat Knitting

Long haired kitten cat

fine and soft in my lap 

like a purring skein of angora.

Liquid Drops

Liquid drops at needle ends

found to be ice on the tongue

melting into a trace of pine.

Proof of Passage

Snowy patches in the road 

ribboned with muddy treadweaves.