rain on the verge of snow.
a chill enters past the closed windows.
my tea lets go of curling steam.
my tea lets go. 

i find the words alone.
i sip hot tea alone. 
there are no longer
questions about its worth. 
alone is sacred;
a diamond even unpolished.  

i was woken early by the birds. 

the sky is paling, the day barely new.

but how can i be annoyed by birds?


like the dead tree
felled by 

the strong winds.
it never says,
“you hurt me.”
rather, it says,
“thank you for the dance.” 


the tree i planted (I.)

there is my tree
i planted it some years ago

when i did 
i let nature decide if it would live

i left it
in the hands of the unknown

now after many seasons
it is strong

stronger than those 
planted with intention and hope

i casted hope aside
and it is strong


the bird sings
even amidst the falling snow.

it is aware
spring is here.
its song is laughter.