Tuesday, February 21, 2012


I don't know the name
(It isn't apple or plum)
Of those white blossoms

On the tree across the creek
At the State Park where I hike

Two blackbirds keep watch,
You cannot be too careful,
You just never know

What is around the corner;
Perhaps a summer romance

But he is thinking
Of something more enduring
Maybe she'll agree

A seed falls upon the ground
Waiting for the rain to fall

After the clouds clear
And after the sun has set
The October moon

Permeates the business park
When the cleaning crews depart

The raccoons come out;
There are lots of discarded,
Half-eaten lunches

Time to clear out the closet
Of things she will never use

In the Museum
Of Natural History
Stacked trays of fossils

Mom's sweater, knit years before,
Still keeps him warm in the snow

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