Forever February

All along the edge of night
she silent slips with ancient ways
with toss of head sends mauve to dark
this art work is the sky and more
belabor not the trust she has
that turn of hand can bring sun down

Come February now the time of mourn
she stops to ponder not worn or wasted
how display the color of the way it feels
to leave beloved flying over hills to stay
forever along the mist that tears have made

She knows this space from every year
has come to feel the callus it has wept
and contemplate the ways to pull the paint
to make a backdrop compliment the grief
and some relief the beauty caught define
like sweet memory of sun in shine of hair

The time is near now she can feel the strain
though it remains eclipsed the brightness fades
then opens new a page of month of days
so turning now she sets the sun in clay to bend
forever February into love again

Meadow of Mustard

A woman watches the west for words
as the wind wipes them from her mouth
and plants them with the haste of winter
into the blowing grasses of a meadow

Singing to the yellow profusion
green weeds dare to whisper about spring
(they have rooted in the pouring rain
and understand mud and time)

Meanwhile a random feather is caught in the fray
and drifting like a kite in early March slowly slides
the invisible air like a lover's silk-lined gown
down into the print left by the woman's boot
as she watches the west for words