new path —
the throat
of a violet

Mother’s Day
this year
the white carnation

Mother’s Day
a hummingbird drinks
between breezes

high noon
a carpenter bee busy
in the hoe handle

daisy chain —
a tick
already gorged

done for the day
my dad brings to supper
the smell of turned earth

cold spring rain . . .
the depth
of her yawn

her long skirt
trembles —
the tulip leaf too

a pair of hens
peer through the fence —
apple blossoms

glass shards
in a circle of stones
spring sunset