magnolia buds
swollen, soft --
tiny dancers poised
for the first movement

thin stirrup of crescent moon
cradles evening star --
sleet pings on my office window

lacework of mist
rolls down through dark pines
my breath rippling morning's first tea

fan of bird wing
catches evening rays
on waking
dreams slip sideways

in the still
deep in darkness
fingering the rosary of regrets
once again

autumn weeps
puddles of scarlet leaves --
the cut that never quite heals

north winds

tease the edge of summer --

women lug bags of yarn