sometimes I
go away without
a word until
that word and
others pile up
demanding
to be let go
or taken
home

and then
sometimes
I think I
understand
and try to
find my way
back

sometimes

your words

cast like bread crumbs

I follow

frost on the window
delicate bones fading
this birdless dawn

Christmas we gather
past and presents
in this living room

up!  up!
a tiny face framed by hands
reaching

Narcissus reflecting
in the pool next to the moon
beneath the moon

crows drop like leaves
through
snow-feathered branches

black water pools
in the gray sagging ice
downstream a heron

morning coffee
one bare foot
under another

your guitar and mine
squirrels chase
through the treetops