Birches Silvering
Their Leaves in a Morning Breeze
With a Robin’s Song
Snow Filled Furrows and
Bare Tree Limbs Debating Spring
With the Singing Birds
To Three Cats, Three plates
Chime Supper On the Tile Floor
And They Come Running
Rough Cutting Art Mats
The Knife’s Rasping Call Scores My
Heart Like Monks Chanting
Ladder in the Hall,
Secular Hymns, Thoughts Climbing
Beyond the Attic
At last the maples
Join the chorus of colors
On a blue sky stage
I hear the voices
On a summer’s evening
Of those who’ve left us