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CXIX. The porch light glows. Isolated
From anyone to enjoy
Its undarkening.
CXX. Silence. Rain passed.
Drip. Drip. Drip. The trees lose hold
Of storm-remnants. Drip.
CXXI. Crickets do not care.
They do not chirp at all now.
For it is still spring.
CXV. Silence prowls around
Bushes below my window.
Claws scratch quietly.
CXVII. Oh, cruel time! Tick, tock.
Time erodes when it could build —
A hole, but not whole.
CXVIII. Old friend, so much time
Has passed through the rugged chasm.
Ever widening.
CXII. Lightning flashes about
The stormy mid-March night sky,
A tempest held back.
CXIII. I have known the storm,
And heard thunder now restrained,
Mighty hammers stilled.
CXIV. Though rain has past us,
Violent clouds address the sky,
Quarrel with the wind.
CIX. The rain falls softly,
Unspoken sorrow waters
The coming year's plants.
CX. Rain in January
Paints a picture of autumn,
Not winter, nor spring.
CXI. The bleak midwinter
Melts the dried tubers which lack
Rosetti's snow sheet.
CVI. For a MacLeish poem
Concerning grief history:
Ah, the maple leaf!
CVII. The still empty box,
The note stored in the drawer,
The roaring silence.
CVIII. For the leaf fallen,
Sits still upon the porch step —
The kind bench, empty.
CIII. Drip. Trickle. Drip. Trickle. Drip.
Snow melts away the dirty —
A clean slate for spring.
CIV. Poor snow, once newfall'n!
A blanket of light now dims,
Curtain call finished.
CV. Each year, its job starts
At crisp Autumnal endings,
But fades 'fore spring's near.
C. The cat sleeps soundly.
My lap is his bed tonight.
My legs sleep under.
CI. Tomorrow's journey,
Takes me down old, well known roads,
For unknown stops.
CII. The crickets chirp now,
A last song before frost gives
A cold curtain call.
XCVII. How I wish time might
Flow back that too soon spent time
Could relive the day.
XCVIII. Softly, I watch it,
Soft focus, unfolding, yet
Still left too folded.
XCVIX. Indian summer —
The weary flowers' last dance
Before frost's sharp blade.
XCVI. Sometimes the silence
Is less fearful than the sound.
Yet it is not kept.
XCVII. The end of a thing —
Unexpected expected —
Reassesses all.
XCVIII. What of different
Views of the same time and place?
Oh, that they would match!
XCIII. Funny how things can
Happen when you least expect.
Listen as they occur.
XCIV. The rain flows about,
Washing away dry old thoughts,
Inviting new paths.
XCV. Time now past by us,
Invites us to see present.
Let's go forth, forward.
