Life as an ice rink:
falling down and getting up
bruising our knees then gliding
with ease,
bumping into people we don't know
and people we do,
moving faster and faster
as long as we can
circling, ever circling--

The words itch
like beads of sweat
or pin feathers
the moment before
they break skin.

One by one they go
leaving their legacy--
bad or good--
clinging to love or bitterness
or something in between,
leaving the rest of us
no choice
but to raise our arms
In surrender. 

We use the example
of the empty egg shell
left inside the nest;
we tell the story
of a bird learning
to wind a clock;
we fall asleep listening
to the owl renaming
all the stars in the sky.

The whisper of the snow falling
brought back the early days--
her mother's swift hands
shaping the dough
and again,
she tried to set time right
trapped by table and chair,
held hostage by four walls.

Sing, sparrow, sing--
this is our chapel, our sun
shining through the timbers.

Sycamore and pine are sheathed with snow; 
the world is soft and white.

The towhees huddled
in the icy ferns
carry the embers of summer
in their unblinking eyes.

The Tin Man and the Edge of Life
lived in close proximity to one another--
on the edge, you see,
if you keep your course,
you needn't dirty your hands.

Auto correct wrote
this poem for you
because I don't care
about the future
or the best thing
to say when
it doesn't matter
how many people
may have been
in this world--
I love you too much
to ask you how
to make a new song.

The first accident was me-- 
the second: a problem umbilical cord
a loose connection 
and the chaos that followed
can't be blamed on anyone,
now, can it?

This still life,
this bounty,
this fading light.

"I do appreciate you" does not mean
you appreciate--it merely means
you can speak the words 
and how empty the world would be
without specifics.

The weight of last night's snow
returned the elderberries, already
fat with next spring's buds
and all our unworldly plans,
firmly to the ground.