The abstraction of Rothko
square clouds on canvas
The drips of Pollock
rain that pours down
Snow squall lip balm
hands in our pockets
The dream of spring
still just a dream
Dust swirls in our eyes
motes from the past
Flames singe skin
no math explains that
The sadness of computers
the looks on cows' faces
Vespers vespers vespers
the quietude of hours
Trees blow sideways
sun gone for the season
Four cold days in a row
count our blessings
Table set for two
the aroma of garlic
Coyote crying in the night
stars that never end