an eight-mile walk
through Colorado’s beauty
even before blooms
what you don’t see here:
picking rhubarb in the rain
for salvation pie
three-thirty a.m.
my oldest’s footsteps. good steps.
intentional steps.
this is not a moon.
this is a lunar eclipse.
(Super-Flower-Blood)
and she’ll be gone soon.
(no early-morning steps).
and i. am. eclipsed.
shadows of loss win
the afternoon shines bright.
(we still have our moon)
a midnight rainstorm
brought early this raging creek
and stole seed-planting
yet, cycle views burst
with blossoms of spring color
saving the lost day
from prom to vaccine
in a short eight-hour night
(let science save us)
snowy petals fall
as spring goslings first appear
(seasoned mockery)
rainy Mother's Day
(cantaloupe aches for planting)
my babies: plants, pets
blooming badminton
(a few moments of teen peace
before bickering)
all i want today
is to watch the sunlight shift
on these reborn blooms
the blue-sky morning
can't capture a year of loss
(oh Lord, that sweet scent)
yet afternoon light
so perfectly shines rosy
(ends this hell-frost year)
the tulips have bloomed
as bright as a sunny day
ending spring’s late start
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