Sat., Feb. 28

Chill returns but growth endures,
life is working up from roots,
out of the soil, into the lawn.
My hands are cold, but my bones
aren't feeling the bite
as deep as winter's teeth would gnaw.

March's doorstep is still grey stone,
that turns to rotting ice in northern nooks,
while south-facing beds look up to yawn,
stretching out, heaving stones
and almost churn to sight
with stirring dirt where pecking birds caw.

Sat., Feb. 28

Every year around this time, i think of '93
the trip abroad, the walk alone,
the pier into the lake.
A night with stars unhindered all
Orion standing clear,
remembering already places here
where presence blunted fear.

In every place where i could see
the mark of faith and home,
there was a lonely ache;
when maps in school-day Bibles led
us through, our fears would take
a waning course, some games and tales
that all our distractions could make.

Friday, Feb. 27

Dusty ice, swept clean by sun
leaves no trace, is done and gone
once the morning has run
into noontime, or before

When growing daylight will each lawn spur
making the grass lift, and slowly stir,
as do the weeds, just a little subtler,
but every living thing shows life, or more.

Thursday, Feb. 26

Trashcans carried out into the dark,
catching a glimpse of a sparrow, singing,
beak in outline, agape and uplifted,
Perching, twisting, calling, ringing.
If i approach, the song will fail.
Backing away, it starts anew,
silhouetted in streetlights,
dawn not far, brushing the east with blue.
Cars rush by out back,
heading for work, zooming to school.
Neither makes the sun rise,
none can its dawn overrule.
They live and move and have their being
in waiting, in working
out the schedule of sun and moon and spring.
Singing, some of us, all turning
to the rising and shining
of the new day,
some with song, others with taillights,
driving the other way.

Ash Wednesday

Blue sky day for ashes burnt to grey,
contrast today to the vastness of what's past.

"Ashes to ashes" is what we say,
placing ourselves from first to last.

"Dust to dust" lays out our trav'ling way,
a lengthy dirt road where many have passed.

An inn awaits where that grime's washed away.