swift winds pull rose blossoms
your words spinning into air

pines speak  --
the shape of the wind

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