with each creation in time the fragility…

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