Oh you wistful girl,
hepatica up through dead leaves,
alive underground.

Sleeping with lichen —
the garter wakes in the woods
under April sun.

Reedy and intent,
his song is automatic —
Robin in springtime.

Diving off the husk,
milkweed seeds float off, nose up —
life of air and earth.

Seeds embroidered in —
threads pulled out like stars to fly
on sharp April wind.

Cheer, cheer, cheer, cheer, cheer,
the cardinal, relentless
in these darkest times.

Every saved thing —
a moment, a universe,
serious mystery.

Lichen at the knots,
wishes could be written here —
paper birch in spring.

Their wake breaks shadows
cast across cold spring pools —
duck pair in April.

Ducks swim in spring pools,
their beaks reflected make four —
above and below.

In my head all day,
I remember the dawn sky —
that brief gentleness.

Under dawn leaf buds,
there is no resolution —
the stars are still out.

In this darkest time,
up before dawn, still thankful
for ecstatic skies.

The sky has been scrubbed,
songbirds are back to singing —
worms on wet pavement.

This is not a rock —
it’s a peony in May
that keeps opening.

This is not a rock —
it’s a bud, a tight cocoon,
waves that keep coming.

This is not a rock —
it’s the moon with a shadow,
heavy in my hand.

This is not a rock —
it’s a walk around the lake
till we’re different.

This is not a rock —
it’s lonely constellations,
ignored, forgotten.

This is not a rock —
it’s a full moon on its side,
floating in a pond.