You’d think after all these years
all the words would be
used up
but over lattes
I see what is beyond our speech

A gift bag caught in a tree
blue, green sheen
branches wine-coloured
getting ready to break
into leaves

We find a quiet spot
above the world
to drink our lattes
as a speckled bird
flies through the roof

Raining enough today
to sweep away the city;
perhaps it will return
in tune, old violin
that knows the notes
before you play them

South shore road in May—
branches of spruce lean over
the sea, whispering

The rain, wind, sun
soften the ground.
I walk on grass
that has not turned green
the scent of flowers everywhere

These days the wind roars—
then quiet as a magnolia
before it blooms

Shadows on the wall
a heart quickly drawn; the art
of speaking clearly

With old words
she told me
of eating opium
by mistake.

My grandmother
fourteen, laughing
as she leaped
over fences in Russia.

Bulldozers and warblers
chew away darkness.
Half song, half yawn,
I ride the daybreak
sky to work.