I buy Snowshoes, in my dream,

now a Minneapolis snow woman!- 

crossing Lake Harriet as if on skis,

stepping on a sleeping mountain 

of snow and ice. 

But the ice groans, quakes

and breaks and I fall into the water,

waking to remember 

this winter is green.

Old Wood

whispers -

  she reaches as many trees as she can,

  leaf collage over foot, 

  yin and yang canopy sprinkling

  dew and dawn down.

Blending in hushed soprano,

farther every day,

more herself than she has ever been.

 It is one of those alone mornings, 

left in a house with a sweet dog and salty cat

left with a kitchen, bright sky streaming in,

left with a list of beautiful tasks

(I have tasks to do!)

left with a roof and warm wooden floors

left with a sunroom where water now freezes.

It is one of those alone mornings,

I turned off the radio

to confront a space of conversations.

Why did I say that?  Why didn’t I say this?

What did he mean by that or she by this?

What should I do first? Why is it daunting to stand

with no one to hold my hands and pull?

Why me? - when the world needs us all to be present?

It is one of those alone mornings.

Self doubt sitting at my table -

Now that I have acknowledged you,

I’ll walk you to the door.

My used to walk
   splitting air, 

   passing everyone!

   

Now as you look 

  towards the sun

  I eye your feet.

  

"Eggs!" he smiles 

sitting next to me in my car.
Were they delicious?
He nods, "ove um. You?"
I brought blueberries today.
He taps my shoulder as I drive.
I look at him showing me his teeth.
They are shiny-clean!
“Up and down."
At the light he tugs on his shirt.
That's an awesome turquoise shirt!
"Three of um!" he says as if they were
newly acquired properties.
Three?
"Yes!"
That's a great idea to have more than one of
your favorite shirt!

"Morrow?"
I'm not driving you tomorrow.
“Why?”
I'm going on vacation.
He moves his hand towards
the windshield, shaped
into an ASL Y sky-bound,

“fffffffoooooooo!” 

Yes, I'm flying with my family.
"I miss you.  

Who?”
Corey will take my place till I'm back.
"When?"
Next week.
"Where?"
I'm going to California.  My son is getting married!
“Wow!”

"Morrow?" 

No.  I'm going on vacation.
We listen to music, the engine hum,
wind thru the window and sun roof.
"I miss you." 
He taps my shoulder,
moves his hand, shaped 

into an ASL Y sky-bound,
towards the windshield.
Yes, I'm flying.
"Why?"
I'm going on vacation.
Turning to look out the window
he begins to sing, then stops,
looking at me.
"When?"
Tomorrow.
"When?"
I'll be back on Tuesday.
"Who?"
Corey will be driving you to and from work
while I'm gone.
"I miss you."  

"When?"
Next week.
“I miss you.” 

In the middle of the graveyard,

on the pale and poignant pond,

neighbors scraped the snow away

and everyone is skating masked.

Like the best present

snow circles under the pine,

lovingly wrapped in air.