Promise of More

And though it may be 
dry outside now
there is recognizable
assurance, trusted
suspicion that you 
recognize
the water 
will run again

Yes, you can
smell it
the abundance of 
lilacs in this city 
every year, one 
after another
the welcome 

of heady bushes
purple and green 
against the ruddy
earth, the little 
acequia

the rain.

1130 Miles: Pink Umbrella: Peregrine

if one is uncareful

a turkey buzzard can be mistaken

for a hawk

at a distance infatuation can be mistaken

for love

the sweep and soaring are the same

and the tears at the ending

so years later you

will be hesitant

uncertain

reluctant 

to embrace those past murmurs as a sign of anything more than past

Folded Parasol of the Alabaster Body

This twenty digit nymph with far off eyes
rested in the dirt with Spring in all its holy 
almost Easter nakedness as the sun skirted

wearing only blushes of blue and pink
as we walked past her on Canyon Road last evening 
crossing and then crossing back across the road 

Feather Arms, Red Breast

And the heart's beating 
Mimes infinitesimal pulse
Agile fingers fold feathery 
Down of seasonal birds
Spring with its arms 
Holding 
Collections of paper 
Gathered again 
Provoking a smile
                  no matter 
How temporary

Pink Umbrella: Almost There: Almost Here

here and there

here too

there

are 

small 

piles

papers

remainders 

after a drawer is put

in order

the slight confusion

after coming upon

this row of

hearts

Pink Umbrella: Catching Up; Unseasonable

unseasonably warm

the winter flowers bloom

in confused profusion

I on the other hand

or turning a new page

or dusting myself off I  

love the warm days 

the cool nights under the wool blanket

the hummingbird drunk on red

bags full of clothes to give away

old letters from old lovers

bundles of clothes to give away

winter squash and the first asparagus

clear skies with no trace of fog

the sight of you in the chair next to mine

Just in Case #8

No sign of rain or snow today but this gentleman

removes his grey hat and places it with his 

wooden handled umbrella on the plaza cafe table, 

wooing the waitress to bring him extra cream. 

His red t-shirt advertises his ageless heart.

He steps outside for a smoke, waiting on huevos

rancheros and a side of Christmas chile in March.