january morning
i could be anything
in the fog

 

a night alone 
my heart a cage
full of winged things

 

winter sky
again and again
the urge to fly

 

spring morning
the sky's blue voice
at my window
 

a lifetime
of grass in my hair
prairie wind
 

now and then
touching the poem
my mother wrote

windswept woman
a life of notebooks
filled with birds