stone angel
a hint of life
in the winter trees

letter from home
the snow muddy
wherever I step

almost spring
untangling the streamers
on the windsock

almost spring
the way she says
edamame

high tide in the slough
two little boys pole
into a foreign land

winter sun — 
trying to believe
in my beliefs

snow field — 
a raven rises
into its cry

buttermilk
seeps from the churn — 
wild onions

a wash of daisies
along the cliff top . . .
the whales give a blow

ripples in the tidepool — 
a quieter ocean
in my child’s shell