bent nails hold
   scraps of colored paper -
memories of past songs

Staples, signs long gone,
rust in the blackened wood.
Old telephone pole.

   storm clouds on the Peaks -
with a whisper
   a blue wind descends

Spreading compost:
Robins patiently await
      the early worm.

Snow squeezes from my spokes
like play-doh
   from a press.

White umbrella.
           White skirt.
Fading into the snowstorm.

Tires on pavement, engines revving...
One block removed
      a girl's laugh from kitchen window.

Winter-numbed limbs
   flex in a warming breeze -
      wool scarves replaced by silk.

Beneath a wide, black hat -
         blowing foam
                                across the cup.

   Colors erupt in oils,
swirl in peaks and vales,
   mimic arboreal change.

Brown vines weave
   their story on old stone...
      The nest is cold.