Driving Between

Stop to notice a
curve in the road –
my mountains ahead,

your mountains behind –
both ranges clear,

and upward
reaching.   Marvel
these Rockies

that grow even now
beneath February
snow melting

to river – white heights
clear, attainable,
and utterly

wide open
against the bluest
Colorado sky.

Love on Sunday

It is the February night
wrapped in a thousand

blankets, it is new snow
falling and wine in a ball jar,

a room ripe with music,
a bathtub full of reflection. It is

the way fire rises up
and up to become

the air. It is the weight
of a body. It is an answer

without a question,
a reason with no

reason, it is tears
falling into still water.