THE SNOW

The snow is dust
under Turgenev's feet

Writing his story
with glances at the words

through the ardent clouds
that hide him as he lives

yet knowing there is a scent
of spring to greet him in the air.

TOLSTOY

In early April
a glimmering morning

the birds rest
outside your dacha

The ice is gone
from the pond

even the horses are ready
to ride

it is a time to contemplate
and write your memoir.

BIRDS

Birds in shadows
of the ranch wall

where we once played
kick ball

today songsters stir on branches
assured of their quick melody

interwoven by the maple tree
as youngsters in perpetuity

are wrapped in the sunlight
watch faithful doves sway.

PICASSO

By constant reinvention
of installation art

from arrangement
in stone

with new images
to retain

from parts
of flesh and bone.

EACH DAWN

Each dawn
colors to smile

on its flowers
with rain or sun

as if there
is an incarnation

even in  exiled hours
at Babylon.

CLOUDS

Clouds tear
the fog

in grief
of existence

on dark March days
as these

shrouded with
unthinkable distance

we take a chance
with resistance

in a faithful chance
belief of ease.

THE WIND MOVES

The wind moves
to rise

over the new tulips
crocus

and Iris'
as we focus

on a field of life
in the mind's eye.