soft rain
the lily and I with stars
in our throats


wet leaves seal the holes
in his boots

out-breath . . .
a sheet of glass falls
from my paddle


rush hour
the quiet helicopters
of maple seeds

rolling thunder
kiss-curls at the base
of your neck


office windows
the mountains will wait
for me


the blue eyes
of African daisies
how I miss you

pond ice
the things we lost
last summer