slant
of down hill
where the mouse
is late
to the grass

the birds don't mind


spring has arrived
early
winter vanishing
at yesterday's
twilight

blue sky bends
over
Port Orchard cedars


to avoid the virus
I am housebound

my window now
a poetics
of desire


I wish to shout
across words
a fondage of new speak
hanging
from the edge
of thought