three poems

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1.
flowers under the snow
may come blushing in spring,
their bright bells turning out
the sadness of sleep.
2.
the cool green water’s unbroken face
stares silently up, sharing the starlight
the moonlight, the clouds. beneath that,
the unseen movements of ink
spread in the darkness, the sharp shapes
of longing
briefly forming.
3.
looking out on the valley,
the aching hills are calling, the pigeons are cooing
and the trees are sighing. i have furnished the world
in wasted grief, tying every disparate thing together
through a hole in my heart.