neck stiff
how long I stood watching
the spiral of storks
add black to a cloud
then white
 

lilacs lean
along the faded barn
a missing door
the passageway
for bees

light years away
I see stars as they once were
a long distance
between what you are now
and my memories
 

in bold ink
on dad's "to do" list
number one
is not to call me
by my sister's name

The bare branches
of the maple reach out
to blue sky.
Where I stand with her
is far beyond my grasp. 
 

Pre-dawn light—
I imagine her
still asleep,
her hair on the pillow
tangled like my thoughts.

Listen, the stream speaks
gently of the endless way
it ever travels;
Even grasses kindly yield
coolness to our weary feet.
 

When my naked feet
entered the clear mountain stream
these bones knew winter;
Once, rooted in melting snow,
a thousand grasses flower.

on the back porch
with a broken foot
in the spring breeze 
the first butterfly
comes and goes
 

conversation dies
at the year's end
just inside the doorway
tall paperwhites
become a dark shadow

she has twice
had to bring me back
to the garden to help—
how happy it makes her
when i stay
 

peacefully
at the long light
it occurs to me
why would i want
to do more,  faster

a tree planted
the spade
smelling
of earth
in a dark shed
 

resurrected
in her long poem
the scent of long dead roses
perfumed love letters and
the man who never was

numbers blink 
on the arrivals board 
over and over 
your plane 
long delayed 
 

you and I trapped 
in snow 
under a fallen tent -
the Rockies 
in July 

a scent of leaves
lingers at the old sundial
in the spring gardens 
can i too be brushed with the peace
of this fragrant sun in my hands?
 

homecoming
a blue dove's quiet call
among the pines . . .
i pause to watch memories
flutter through the shade

each day
a golden sunrise
to observe
the wisdom of our elders
repeated in the young
 

slanted sun
long blue shadows grope
over tired snow
wistful thoughts reach for you
across so many winters

I asked a waitress
if she had been adopted,
she looked so much like you.
But . . . “no,” she said, “sorry”
and so I must keep looking 
 

You said that you’d call
and I rushed in vain to the phone 
five times today.
Just now, I thought I saw
the stone dove statue flutter 

unfolding perfectly
again this year
the pink peony –
what deep longing to hold
my late mother’s hand
 

slow rising mist
in North Dakota hills
long lost images –
my heart a fast throbbing drum 
my tears join Native ghosts