Retreat

2 new poems

Retreat 

This spring, poetry
slipped from thought. 

I kept quiet 
as color rose 
from winter’s muck. 

I let the mind 
rove hollow, 
undone 

in sunlight,
unburdened 
by a need to name.



Here

Haze-veiled, leaf-pale 
May afternoon 
pulses through a window. 

How shadows waver like water 
on the floor, 
and time takes shape

from the pattern of a day. 
A room, 
a vase of dead flowers, 

an open notebook on a cat-scratched chair.