first flakes
the nowhere voices
of geese

the snow
follows grace
stone soup

first
in the last trash bag —
the box it came in

winter frost —
the sword’s sharp shine
out of the sheath

a rose petal
in the singing bowl . . .
first blackbird

All Saints’ Day dusk:
a blackbird’s alarm call
sets off another

folding the map
part of the country ends
in the ocean

New Year’s Day
the cloud that held the mountain
lets go

winter thaw
tasting spiced cider
on my lover’s tongue

bare trees
a request for an update
of my bio