New Poem

The Yard Dreams


I’ve been thinking about love,
old love. Not “sunshine on a cloudy day”

love, or love like a Nor’easter,
with its thunder crack that splits

the heart wide open, snaps
its flag back and forth

in a mean wind,
but love at rest

because the days are too short
and the sky pulls

its grey flannel blanket over us,
while the occasional snowflakes

fall like displaced stars
resting on the window

of the skin. Meanwhile,
the yard dreams of spring thaw:

the ground filled with unbroken buds,
and enough love to save us all.