winter stars —
lichen sparkles
on a birch branch

hint of spring
the weeds picked
for my hair

midday thaw
the blackbird’s feathers
full of rainbows

furrows curving
over the hill
a line of crow-topped trees

through my earmuffs
the sound
of a spring bird

late winter
the night scented
with noodles

almost spring
scent of a woman’s hair
in the elevator

birdsong
an icicle drops
into my shadow

first spring day —
a blue heron works at
an unruly feather

sunrise . . .
tadpoles emerge
from my shadow