Cupboard Weather:Three Chairs

three chairs
in the cafe
empty
now
a yesterday
when conversation
and coffee
pushed them
together
gone
now

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Cupboard Weather: What Might the Rain Bring

The center of the dahlia

evokes fire in daylight or

a stranger juggling night meteor

showers in the trees around him

Where all else is simply,

dark

Cupboard Weather: 21 Weeks: Summer

I walked home
a cool breeze
came up often
enough for comfort
this flower
a dahlia
I think
followed
the parade
callas
roses
lavender
rushing toward
beauty and
Summer

Free Way

I was readied to post
these stilt walkers facing
fervently forward    to mimic

your bronzed cranes but
then you moved on   ahead
passing me on the freeway

landed back home 
before I could hold you with 
strong arms and march with you 

from water silo to wide sky - 
all ours   these acrobatics of traversing
hard ground soft tires spokes

on the certain wheels moving against
the silenced upstream crowd 
lookers on   bowed heads in the frame

of balancing and returning and
making a determined way through
with hands remembering just what to do

Cupboard Weather: Weeks Blurring:

home
what I mean is walls
silence
cushions
sliced onions
a cat's purr
sidewalks with people walking
fresh vegetables green against green
smaller than your sky place
but mine

Cupboard Weather: Stillness

wind and wings rush by
the whooping crane
teeters frozen in brass
or the edge of extinction
semis roar down the road
drowning out bird sounds
and barreling toward
the stupefied deer

A Saturday Pup

Cupboard Weather: Another Hot May

when the sun has sunk
leaving a gentle glow
pine needles framed like old bookplates
reporters happy that tomorrow
will be hot the day after hotter
and so on
each Winter shorter
each Spring so warm
Summer has a competitor
the Mesa bakes
the sky run a trail of rocks and dirt
the Pine Bark Beetles defeat the trees
I hope for rain to wash the dust from my cheeks
and the gray sorrow from my hair

Such Weather: Silently Counting

Winter hasn't quite let go of us yet
We escape inside for curry soup and 
cups of hot tea in Spring, cups that 
neatly fit into the prayer mitts of 
our hands. Slowly bailing water 
from our hearts.

Alone, for the moment, 
at the table. Waiting on the fortune
that season's changing light may bring.