Archives: Poem Gallery

chopping winter wood
a butterfly
stops my axe

picnic with Laurel
our hands stop reaching
for the same small cake

summer-sweet salads
out of father’s garden
our sliced tomatoes

the peach trees sweeten
in the far dripping fog
the shapes of silence

too young to fruit
the apple trees hanging out
with old Jack Frost

window corner
the spider’s young
rainbows with dew