Jumping for Joy

an eight-mile walk
through Colorado’s beauty
even before blooms

Rhubarb Rules

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