the children jump
feet first
leaves in their hair

he's spent
all day raking leaves
               Cannonball!

newly raked leaves
        scattered
children laughing

stepping outside
quickly back in
to grab a sweatshirt

seeing no people
the deer
finally eat

making dinner
for myself
i light candles

the flag, waving
in the running-wind
touchdown!

fluttering in the wind
small wings
laughter rings

hard nipples
raising painted letters
          game day

gentle breeze
the last leaf
                 falls.

the moon glows
fiery red
rustling leaves

as I rake closer
the leaf pile
giggles

Sigh . . .
re-raking
scattered leaves

fallen leaves
sticking to the rake—
dog poop in the yard

church bells
     in the distance . . .
          I hum along

a building
with its own stories
now an empty shell

a good book
solid oak tree
my backrest.

luring me to sleep
dancing fire
pops and snaps

unlocking the door
     dark      emptiness
awaits

on my back
imagining you
        with her

wilted flowers
on the gravestone—too long
since my last visit

sitting      alone
at      his      grave
leaves cover      his memory

in the basket
for your mother
bouquet of fire

tearing lettuce
i realize everything
tears fall into the bowl

stained apron
a dollar
on the table

I bake for him
apple pie
when autumn arrives

our front-yard tree
watches me
go in and out

lonely swing
I creep outside
to keep it company.

empty house
we say goodbye,
my stomach growls

a breeze
ripples the stars
in the pond

snowy hillside cemetery—
children with sleds
ramping the fallen gravestones

tiny wings flutter
from flower to flower
then to my finger tips

cutting open an onion
only the center
had molded

autumn sunset
stealing spotlight
from the bride-to-be

Summer night
the stars fill
the swimming pool

watching you
from across the room
          with her

tip-toeing
away from camp
to skinny dip

escaping the chill
under your jacket
my arms around your waist

the autumn
wind carries
voices and laughter

music playing
it's only me
and the Dance

sprinklers
I take off my glasses
to dry them off

stories about childhood
he stops—
a classic car

squatting on the sidewalk
content to watch
a mound of busy ants

mist in the eucalyptus
my aunt tells stories
smiles where her wrinkles are

a single petal
floats away
tears

after a few drinks
I sleep
among the roses

Friday night
with the girls
he sends us drinks

shuffling notecards
and just one woosh . . .
goosebump

hiking ahead
he blends in perfectly—
lonely mountain valley

hint of dawn, leaving
last night owl
        whooo . . .

crisp fall air
breathe deep
e  x  h  a  l  e

on the sidewalk
glass blending
with the rain

break from sledding—
writing our names
with yellow snow