Don’t forget my face,
the life I was trying for—
the poems I wrote.

The memory gift,
forming and falling away—
becoming leaf, skin.

Remember this path,
the life you are thankful for,
no more time wasted.

Sand cherry blooming
on top of the tallest dune,
bees work them all day.

The light on this dune
passes through me and becomes
the light in my mind.

Only family—
in these woods, our heads bowed soft,
sun in, just enough.

The lighthouse flowers
hold sunlight in their soft heads,
the shutter curls light.

Hot flickering gold,
a sunrise like Edvard Munch—
birds still sing to it.

At sunrise I found
a perfect Robin’s egg perched
on the bluff’s edge.

Deer jumped just for fun
into this dark spring forest—
we laugh as we walk.

Sun comes in the room,
details of the day emerge,
mystery persists.

If this was my barn,
I would paint in it all day,
life, coming and going.

I bloom like a bowl,
a rose-breasted grosbeak sings
sharp to the May sun.

I had six goslings
now I am mourned, struck, broken—
this year on the pond.

In the greening field—
peace follows him everywhere,
my dog’s gentle steps.

Yes, lilacs, yes, yes—
delicate with a fat bee,
buzzing, saying yes.

Knowing I save them,
my mother gave me this stamp
that small captured mood.

They come in slowly,
the gentle and beautiful
silken gifts of May.

Coiled around a ball,
among stones around the barn,
a snake tastes the air.

Silken, like a bloom,
the stream of forget-me-nots,
in earliest spring.