bathing in gold
my face and
the leaves

flying kites into
blue skies

letting go

floating
away

empty house

an empty house
waiting silently
at the intersection of
time past
and future

plans promises and dreams
a few scattered remains (past)
day night rain sunlight
scarcely touching (now)

an empty house
waiting silently
for life
to enter

promise

I wrote this on a train journey last month. More of a passing cloud than a poem.

promise

bare trees promise
blue sky
green

February

hungry for spring
i think it is too early for the leaves
to emerge
yet

let me dwell
a little longer
in my dark cold cell

it is too early, i think, for sunshine
it is too early for the birds to sing