gold leaves
swirl around the maple . . .
Thanksgiving alone

possible remission –
bitter wind
shivers the shutters

his silence
the sounds of rain
            becoming hail

pulsing light –
the crunch of leaves
as the ambulance pulls away

first snow –
in each school window
a face

scent of winter –
the sycamore's tire swing
turns in the wind

sounds of a downpour . . .
I trace the pillow pattern
on her cheek

stormy night
hot Jelly Roll
from the jukebox

morning frost
a compost seedling
sparkles

clear marsh sky –
the sound of geese
drinking water