Only lilacs

in the afternoon light, a small reprieve:

time becoming faint and see-through.

Can't remember how it goes

but this reminds me of a fairy tale--a girl, a swan.

Still

dreams in paint, after all these years.

Some mornings

I walk out the back door and it looks like this.

Steam and water and rain

like that dream of the summer when you were five.

As always

     
                              Pale shells gave way to sunrise colors;  I envied her concentration, as always.

The nights are still cold

                      and I find myself wishing for my very own pink tree.

Like holding seafoam

             
                                                             to try and hold on to these days.

The wind came from faraway

     

               

                                                                   Arctic, but exhilarating