Wind Scented With Mountain Flowers

A sunny April day in late January.

A warming strong wind the past days

erased the remaining snow, dried the ground.

I took tea outside and read new poems.

Buds watching me chuckled over my joy.




Hope Is Also the Bud in Snow

that clings to the branch tightly closed,

layered in fine colors for the Spring –

unashamed she will show Her yellow petticoats

to me                              and dances with the wind.

Perfume upon me from an immodest touch.