night before the frost—
every vase in the house
rich with garden flowers
*
morning thunder—
only the most stubborn dreamers
still beneath the sheets
*
the last barefoot day—
spending it as if it were not
the last barefoot day
*
I sure do sing
a lot for someone who says
she loves silence
*
a slight bitterness
in autumn’s greens—that
is what honey is for