11.

reaching

flexed against (

the sky pink

these new hours)

bed sheet strewn

across river hilltops

spring down

coiled now
clutching narcissus
crocus 

spare winter aconite
showing

citrine and low

(pink beyond

) held off once more

still morning

arching  

a loosely rolled

gazette (was

) is hurled

against what 

will be

10.

pruning back bare

shrubs, overgrowing

space between

where

new sun need fall

triggers (soon enough

raw green tendrils

begin) again and

remind me of Ahab’s leg

lost to a blind white fury

forever – we, once cut short

must watch anger grow

whereas this wilder shade

returns, forgiving

twofold and

supple

9.

lace

a new wet snow

morning and

clinging to forever gray

architecture

the driving’s good

wooden flyers stacked

and ready

clatter

in the back of this

north (of somewhere

shining – a responsibility

to slide down long, easy hills

and so we go

) is real

snowmen too

boys will be boys

will believe

will be

joy

we manage a face, black stone buttons

but leave them wanting, dreaming

lacking proper sticks

for arms (

this new snow

lace

on a world of trees

) gone 

by tomorrow

8.

who am I

to say a word about

there is a door

ajar - what is out or in

or sorted by

according to the

light and why would

a question (such as

land right there

and not in the sweeter spot

here, vernal

warm sun glow

veil yellow

who?

7.

a great snow

passing south of

white with memory

brings lynx and elk, all

manner of wild beast

recalling primal borders

long, vibrant edges

unspoiled by language

(not that storm

the TV preaching, but

the unwritten

one

) their yellow-eyed hungers

slip a false curved

modern wind

the cougar returns to Virginia

wolves encircle the

frozen capitol

unending

huge bears

abound

here, north of that

low, against blue water

the kingfisher (laughing
always knows how
the story ends