Sixth Wednesday

A high brick wall, birds
flying in a winter sky —
I have no wings.

Fifth Saturday

Morning light, grey-gold,
flinging long shadows across
the dip of the hills,
and, binding the concave sky
to the earth, a long grey road.

Fifth Friday

Tennis-shoe clad feet
grounded on the grass-specked earth,
root-tangled, flooded
with Colorado sunshine:
true, I have not really changed.

Fourth Friday

Drift and fall of snow
collecting without notice:
slow white weekend thoughts.

Fourth Wednesday

Somehow in this tea
corduroy pipe smoke got mixed
in with the wet leaves.

Third Tuesday

That silver wafer
in a deep blue velvet bowl —
full moon at midnight.

Third Friday

Touch bottom under
heavy blue billows of sleep,
then come up for air.

Third Wednesday

Victory is
the squeak of five pairs of shoes
on a hardwood floor.

Second Tuesday

Haiku and me: both
unsettled by this warm rain
in January.

Second Monday

The pouring of tea:
life yearns for such strong graceful
poised liquid control.

Second Sunday

Outside: snow on trees,
and inside the warm kitchen,
flour-dusted bread.

Second Saturday

Weekends remind me:
minutes are not check-boxes
but cups of coffee.

Second Friday

Welcome the weekend
drinking milk with marshmallows,
tipsy with laughter.

Second Thursday

Grocery shelves: rows
of such nourishing order
reassure the mind.

Second Wednesday

I follow: motion
prompted by another's bones
and bending impulse.

First Tuesday

The crusty brown earth
longs for strong winds of March
and the rain's whispers.

First Monday

Amber liquid steam
becomes frost on the window
marking the sunrise.

First Sunday

Gold yolks turned grainy
with beaten froth and sugar:
metamorphosis.

First Saturday

Squirrel waist-deep in snow,
powder between your dark ears,
what do you dig for?

First Friday

clickety tap tap
ricka-ticka-ticka POP
gurgle hissss gurgle

(Mauck radiators)