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Hydrangeas in January
The Reneaus
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The hymn, familiar
The Withered Crown
Each petal splits in minor key
Through the window
Hydrangeas whipping
Noon burns my shins up to my knee
Their summer green dress
I remember
Now raw material for something new
And thin frames forced into stiff dancers
Waltz my wanting back to you
It's then I wonder
How they're still standing
And what at last might bring them down
A sleeted storm, a stinging snow,
An earthquake swallowing the ground?
No, it would not be near as heavy
The final straw, that is to say
Is likely some sudden soft landing
A butterfly who lost her way
Her fragile wings
A sharp reminder
Another hymn
The Mourning Dove
We heard beneath the budding branches
When winter was unheard of