February Dawn

More snow this morning. I am reminded of this poem from my first book, At the Year’s Elbow: February Dawn Orange wakes. I stir and stretch my orange arms. My toes touch the edge of the sun. Copper faucet pours orange, Orange streams through sun-bright glass, Heats the cool green walls. Bedspread patterns tropic, swirling

Snowstorm

Here’s a poem from my book At the Year’s Elbow: Blizzard The deaf snow speaks in sign like a prophet. His fingers remark the landscape swiftly, stolidly. They say This time I am serious. He cups his thick hand on the birdsnest, he levels the driveways, leans on the trees, pulls the sky down to