Inlet deep,
water clear…kestrel eyes
the submarine

☯️

After dark…
scissor-snicker,
wind through trees

☯️

Twilight…
that north wind
combing the birches

☯️

Lightning forks–
too far away,
the storm

☯️

Spring turns…
a chickadee’s pause
between chirps

☯️

Lady with fan…
concrete heat
through her slippers

☯️

Spring turned…
dandelion puffs drift
by the church

☯️

On this spot…
ghost of a long-ago
left turn

☯️

Gun,
left alone in the sink…
gone noon

☯️

…and the bird,
beak cocked, decides
not to sing

☯️

Dead town…
scuff marks
on a smooth floor

☯️

Spring turned…
daffodil strains
for admiration

☯️

Spring turned…
morning dew soaks
my thin shoes

☯️

Spring won’t turn…
seagull scares off crow
for a bagel

☯️

Spring turns…
four-foot grass where a theatre
once stood

☯️

Tears, dried,
long since…
warped page

☯️

Cradling
that cigarette, he blinks
with eyes closed

☯️

To the mug,
two dings from a spoon…
grumbly thunder

☯️

Thin smoke,
silence…
by the station

☯️

Spring flirts…
watching dog shit dry,
side street

☯️