Blue Sky

When I open the door 
the warm air
surprises me.

Blue, blue sky, sun
bright, I walk 
poems to the
mailbox.

Skating

It’s always new and always the 
same. After awhile 
you can sort of 
skate over the pain like 
it was ice.

Sunrise

This morning I woke
in time to
see the blood rose sunrise
and my breath in the
cold air.

Memories of My Mother

Sometimes a laugh or a piece of
music that played us to sleep, 
the reflection of my mouth in that same 
disapproving line.

Tuesday Morning

A soft breeze whirls a few leaves around.
Over the house , the bare grey branches sway.
Wisps of clouds blow across the blue
blue sky, racing me to the mailbox.

The sun is warm,
the air cool as I walk down
to the mailbox to post a
poem.

Heart

Bare branches 
outside
my widow make
a heart.