winter aquarium —
maybe I should have stayed
in my home town

sun in the pines
the awkward cadence
of Father’s voice

alone at the beach —
cones of bent pines
so low to the ground

snow moon
the blue shadow
of a bare birch

ice storm
he traces my scars
in the dark

snowbound —
collecting rent
on Boardwalk

fading light
my snow shovel’s scrape
answers another

deep winter
rooks call other rooks
through the dusk

sketch pad
no color
for snow

late night . . .
sounds this house makes
only in the winter