winter sunrise
blinking
between the boxcars

storage closet
the dead spider
as fine as its web

waiting
for the rice to boil
winter moon

woodburning stove —
toiled boots
prop each other up

winter noon
a branch drips
on its shadow

snowed in . . .
opening the lid
of my breadmaker

last of the sun —
the letter of apology
half written

winter sunrise
the crack
in the barn door

a clump of soil
shaped by his grip —
late winter sun

snowmelt
a raspberry cane
springs back