Author: Kristen Lindquist

wind-dried beach cobbles
the grey seals singing
each to each

first snow . . .
our neighbors turn on
their party lights

summer clouds
the taiko drummer
widens her stance

a green lacewing
on the torn screen window
stormlight

whale-road
a rusted anchor stains
the beach sand

hanging over us
an icicle
the length of March

some stories
take all day to tell
red-eyed vireo

I say one thing
but you hear another
hummingbird moth

morning chill
the last of the basil
fills a vase

winter rain
a blue bowl overflows
with clementines

wind in the wind chimes
early morning thoughts
of the afterlife

earth day
leaving the river alone
with its thoughts

remembering
the patterns of stars
migrants

no more politics
dead-heading
the day-lilies

my mother singing
on my answering machine
another year