Photo by roelmeijer on Adobe Stock
In the Valley
I walk north where garlic mustard grows
with heart-shaped leaves,
clusters of tiny white stars.
Their slender stalks border a trail
into the woods
past a brook where the deer drink.
Back in Manhattan
they nod to me
on my solitary walks
along the river,
reminding me of the path
to your house.
I flow like the Hudson,
Mahicantuck in Lenape,
river that moves in both directions.
Reflections
I wake to view myself
through the window
robed in flimsy summer clouds
my sky-blue complexion
unblemished
I wash my face in the nearby stream
a watery mirror,
window to a time
before words
before memory
A Spat
A Venetian wineglass
sits broken
on the kitchen
window sill
its azure bowl upside down
lord and lady
in festive costumes
dancing on their heads
Nearby the glass stem waits
for glue