Poem Category: Miscellaneous

Wednesdays…
pruning her roses
she left me

in the late sun
I just faced
a butterfly

her brush–
silently in sunshine
a butterfly’s…touch

Canoeing
ahead of us
the storm rushed clouds.

The spider must wait
carrying her eggs
the fly escapes.

book of insects
a cricket’s mate calls
under the floor boards.

our long weekend
painting the room–
the baby’s future

tools–
she’s tilling
to free her roses

the waterfall
and your laughs
within hearing

long weekend
the weed’s hold
pulls back