Walking with my Daughter on a Tuesday Afternoon

Your easy pace,
our portal
to the raven
in the tangled
and the boxelder bug
that lands
on your t-shirt
like a wish.
Your hand
pulls me to slow,
an armful
of fresh eggs
and our dusty heels
kick just right,
as we talk about
limeade, and take
the long
way home.



The clouds have turned
to rain, and funny
how permission
to stay indoors
is granted by
the greying
sky. Buds rattle
the window pane
on bursting late March branches
and we task ourselves
with doing nothing,
which today
feels a whole lot
like everything,
or at least
everything that matters,
on a Saturday

It Feels a Little Bit Like Love

Long light
in the hours
of evening,
we pedal
and also
we are

I want
to know you
as a child,
but perhaps it is because
I see you now
as you might have been

And later,
a story
like a revelation –
layers fall
by firelight,
the last log
of the season.

these trails-
we are the sum
of our lifetimes –
now here,
and the snow
has melted.