winter morning —
dad’s butter in a cup
atop the toaster

winter morning
her perfume scents
the river path

the last of winter
the crucifix covered
with a purple shroud

March wind
the story of a couple
who separate

mating robins
the broken yellow
of the centerline

children’s laughter —
a weekend father
with sticks in his hair

church bells
tree roots have cracked
the sidewalk

clearing sky
a hailstone melts
on the fallen flower

the void she leaves . . .
a honeybee enters
an apple blossom

first buds
she only counts
the green cars