Find the Country Quiet

The quarter moon 

And Venus, tonight, 

Quite brilliantly bolting 

the treasure of black sky 

Days and nights 

Not really meaning much 

Although I notice by the mailbox

On the road, 

Where I’ve not been often 

Lately, the magnolia is setting her 

Furry buds. 

On my Mother’s Birthday

Inside all day today, 

Alone in the conservatory 

Clipping, tidying

I rooted geranium

During the afternoon, 

And as twilight came on

Fussed with scraggly parsley

An accommodating little

Bit of life, it

Flavored the winter,

Rosemary too

Ferns fared better this season,

Hibiscus settled into 

The quiet light where they 

Weather overwintering

Primordial, the blood and sap 

Admix into releasing loam

As spring arrives in

Fits and starts, my

Every near-miss of spring-readying 

An eternity, patchworking through 

Into the coming bloom—

Tonight’s snow like lace.  

A Small Wondering

When is it alright to weep?
When is it okay to go to your knees?
When does the screaming that takes
Paint off the walls,
Excavates the sacred interior where we
Try to dwell,
Where at one time in folly we thought
We could find homeostasis
Start to decompose into despair?
Is that where we begin?