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
other animals 