spring breeze —
the smell of new tires
from the bike shop

little loose cloud
and the blue balloon
finding each other

clinic appointment . . .
I stop
to pet pussy willows

white marble
I am small at the feet
of Lincoln

snarled traffic . . .
a mosquito buzzes
in my ear

spring landscape
a water colorist’s brush
tints the stream

fragrant irises
the boy asks
where babies come from

the chorus
before the cranes . . .
spring sky

spring ends
the old acacia
remains leafless

anemones
shedding petals in the stream —
wind-streaked clouds