Poem Category: Spring

Becoming alive
the painted eyes
on his birthday kite.

Sudden red light
the wail of an ice-cream
hitting the car floor.

Express trains
the thinness of the weeds
in the platform cracks.

Ebbing with
the tides of sleep
Sunday lay-in.

Rustled garden
clouds corral
the sunspots.

Sunset on the sea
little specks of geese
as souls migrate.

Street cafe’
my daughter and I talking
in a newspaper wind.

The tip-toe tot
now knowing
roses make her sneeze.

Deep water
the white heart
of a full moon.

Picnic sun …
so bright Laurel’s shadow
has eye lashes.