on each tip
of the three-fingered cactus
snow

steam rising
from the dog's pee
witching hour

winter time
the open woods where
once we listened for owls

Valentine month
from her mouth to mine
fresh strawberries

penitence
an absence of color
connects the stars

                 winter dusk
                 old fingers remember
                 an old tune

                 depth of winter—
                 a dying pigeon
                 flaps away my help

                 winter hawks
                 mother’s silence
                 follows me home

the barbecue sizzling winter rain

ice melting the shape of the branch it fell from