light green leaves mix with the dark blossoms fade away
rewriting the sympathy card the silence of oak flowers
juxtaposition TK the alarm fills the sky with birds
we don’t talk about gutters anymore the flat bottoms of clouds
the colors of orchids bromeliads and know-it-alls
easter I fill a pen with green ink
the sharp stones of the mountain trail in my mind
branches just budding saying hello though I didn’t mean to
a bird peeks at me through the window another morning gone
cresting the hill a single daffodil late for the party
tulips in the soft breeze still losing my hair
the birds startled awake crying into the dawn
I try to put the eraser aside the bee’s legs thick with pollen
beneath the flowering cherry my future hidden in the roots
the pain in my back and notebook all for this little white flower
a hawk in morning light flies through the window of the train
bare branches the house that celebrated every holiday
I remember the meeting and curse at no one my tulips and clouds
long cones on the old pine the morning air fills with exhaust
spring rain the cold flesh of tonight’s dinner
before the day unfolds its face the slow swell of white blossoms
red clouds this morning the garbage truck backs into my tea
between grey Bronx buildings a magnolia’s pink stretches
between both sides of sleep tossing and turning the sharpness of birds
the cartoon face of my problems dust settles on the moon
birds call endlessly I search the journals for lost haiku
more squirrels in the yard digging for treasure with my good pen
the fog dissolving bare branches but a glimpse of green
until it sings spreading seeds through the escaping sky
the darkness of parked cars on a spring morning the breeze
the creak of the door as she leaves I hope the mockingbird wasn’t listening
the snowdrops barely blooming I throw away another pen
the green rubber band trying to hold it all together
morning sun through church bells dark spots on orchid leaves
flipping through the leaves the poem I was writing in the wind
so many things but where do I
start in the red shade of the oak
calm morning the neighbor’s dog starts to bark back when I was a kid
melting snow my accountant’s enormous fingers
outside the sex shop the raw pink of the homeless man’s legs
the green weight of summer sighs
a word for those years finally soft wings from the cocoon
how hard you had to hit the old typewriter summer shower
a mourning dove cooing to the train in the pine tree
bright spots on the branches the last drops of rain hold on
up to my elbows in mud feeling for the rough edges of new poems
the heavy grapes of high summer in the year’s first crocus
the branches darken on every corner a murder
a stream of words when I close my eyes leaves in the breeze
wind tossed trees all the little blue flowers stay still
maybe just hunger in the highest parts of the clouds
winter sunrise a string of rejections back into the sky
his face the dark landscape before the train stops
I smoke too much in dreams fine welding on the mermaid
the sweetness of apples past their prime in the blue dawn
a few green sprouts from the stubble I start a new blog
other animals 