April 24

I find it hard

to see you

when you’re gone

which is flimsy

excuse my lack

of imagination

forgive my

insubstantial

mind’s eye

April 23

That we are here

that the day

has begun and we

look out into it

and see the spring

unfolding its

radiance and also

see the mere

reflection of our

selves in the window

that the day will

pass and another

follow whether we

are here or not

April 22

Letter to my chickadee:

You know who you are

my dear, one of many

generations who have

come to my feeders,

who have eaten the

seed, suet, and worms

I put there for you so,

selfishly, I could hear

your spirited calls, all

winter long punctuating

the deep silence of the

cold. You know who

you are my tiny black

and white bird, the one

who takes refuge in the

murky winter-green trees,

who is still here now

that spring has erased

the dark and lit a branch

with its ephemeral day.

April 21

The wind keeps

making more

of itself.

April 20

Some of the pods held on

until now, waiting for spring before

they released their seeds. Only

once each seed drops and has

its chance in the ground. Only

this moment is the time

for each, and the rain must

come, and no late frost

condense along the tree line.

So spring passes into being with

a chance instant for each living

thing, including you and me.

April 19

Hovering in the house

having edged in through

doors and windows

cracked for spring

there is an air of

something or

someone

not here

before