On days
when the veil
is a bit

I want to
wrap you in
the warm fabric
of my love.


When I
came up against
the idea
of losing you,

I walked to a field
and stayed,
until everything
became quiet.


Let me take you
back into
my arms, let
our tender

bodies soften
beneath leaves
that float down
like questions.

We Like to Call it Love

My body
is breaking, slow
like a frozen

and it’s all right.
I feel it

in my knees,
like the cherry trees
which certainly

are growing,
and also
dying. They still

bloom pink
each spring,

their wet pollen
onto the noses
of bees. We 

were made
for a grand
coming together,

you and me
and the trees
and all the little things,

and also we
were made for
naught. And isn’t it

a sweet relief
that both
can be?

All Day Long, They Wait

In the post office,
you hold them back
as you read your mother’s letter,
so full of praise, so full
of sweet wishes
that your father
could witness the changes.
And then again
when you almost leave
the dry spot of milk
from the morning
cereal – What if I never see them
again? You wonder. Oh,
these daytime dreams –
leave things as they are
in case everything changes.
But you wipe the milk,
and make the beds,
and arrange the pillows
still smelling of children’s hair
and that is when you see them,
the doe and fawn
by the last of the melting snow,
and she grooms softly
the ears of her child
and finally,
they come.