I took a short journey north, during which there was a great deal of rain; and when I returned, the redbud trees had bloomed and the goldfinches had molted into their bright yellow plumage.

So I have three days of poem drafts to post.

~

Passover

The first holiday without,
grief burns like anger.
Irritant. Tough fibers
scraping at skin raise a rash,
sore during celebration.
Empty ritual this year.
Empty place at the table–
bitter, bitter herbs.

~
~
Visual Trick

Along tree line’s haze
of new growth, the blur–
lichen-covered boughs,
white-flowering branches.
Sky’s cloudy, grass strewn
with petals might almost
be snow, but goldfinch
perches yellow on beech’s
recalcitrant twigs.
Not snow but Spring.

~
~

**

The drive isn’t always pleasant:
too much traffic, too much rain,
too many miles between friends,
but I will accompany you.

Mutual miles, mutual acquaintances–
though much impedes marriage,
true minds admit true friends into
the equation, complex and contradictory,

at which we work consistently;
they are our common denominators.
~

• **Photo by Lukas Rychvalsky on Pexels.com