Three red tulip blossoms
Return each spring

And we greet each other silently
As we have done for 30 years.


Petals drop
Stems dry

The tulip withdraws within itself
To prepare for reawakening
At its prescribed time.


A ginger haired man
wearing a yellow T-shirt
is pushing an orange lawn mower
over the purple weed flowers.

This is not the first sign of our spring season.

Last week, the pear trees filled with white blossoms.
Then, the pink blooms on the red bud tree appeared.


Ah, you ladies of the night
and you of the day.

All of you.

Back then, I did not know for what you really wished
and now, my age provides immunity and I longer care.

For tonight my comfort lies
not within your embraces

but in a solitary bed
with a single pillow for my head

The Face

The face in the mirror becomes less familiar with time.

The image is somewhat blurred in the morning when my senses are not fully alert and the sleep crust in my eyes obscures.

Later. it will become distorted by the fatigue of the day and will not be the face of my memory.

One day soon, I will stop looking at it.


I watch out my window for the flock of robins
that will pause at the end of my driveway
on their migration north to the breeding grounds.

I see only snow in the air
and ice on the road.

The month is March.
The time of greening
and I grow impatient.


We cannot see
beyond where we are now standing

It is not dark,
merely not lit by any illumination
that will provide sight
beyond where we are now standing.

We try.

We call on seers and oracles
who will ask us to believe we can see
beyond where we are now standing.

They mislead.

There is no light
No fear
No hope
beyond where we are now standing.