I have my evenings


A sketchy evening, hastily made and fresh


with silky bird songs tangled through the air


four pink-edged apple blossoms puffed out


on the bough because a warm week fooled


them into spring.


I think the evening maker likes this


one, delays the disappearance, slows


the tide, keeps


the bright air stirred. If we were new


here we could wonder what comes next.


Love, I have evenings. I have evenings, and I


††††††† donít


know myself how to untangle the songs.