the children run
so carelessly
through the garden-
my dismay tempered
with memory

early summer breeze
plays the sun
across the forest ferns-
everything so nice
I hardly know what to do

how old it becomes
but no denying
the appeal of this quest
for what is new
and turned out latest

after supporting
their divorce plans
I write them a Valentine;
suggest they reconsider
it all again

this complete enigma
of me wanting more solitude
then company in turn
on my terms
at just the right time

a few graves apart:
neighbors who had nothing to say
to each other

much of my life spent
wanting others to like
what I like-
in my jacket pocket the stone
is worked with worries

bitter cold morning-
compressed with the trash
some of sunrise

asked to arrange
the flowers in a vase
I put them in any which way-
so glad there are some things
which can’t go wrong