4/26

In evening, the hour of rockwell's light, slanting

Golden across the tree tops, I stand looking

Past these colors

Deepening into perfect. In evening,

Feeling the hint of chill that will echo ever

The soul's sadness.

In evening, no longer overwhelming, only

A constant tingeing rooted sorrow, haunting 

as crying geese. 

4/21

A year ago I was painting on this day, Snow Hill, crying as
My uncle had died and you were not here but a friend was,
Painting with me.

And this year she with another came again and we painted here,
The farm and  your tools hanging until the wallops rocket launched.
You would've enjoyed.

4/8

A long time ago I lived between the marsh and the sea.
Lived with the salt smell, the sound of foghorns and waves 
backwashing on pebbles.

4/6

I have sat here many an evening tracking the sun

Along the horizon, along the seasons, the years,

Remembering the love...

Remembering we did love together and as that tug

Pushes on the river, I watch, thinking of how I tell you

My heart thoughts, 

In the keeping of words shared quietly with you, 

I have found strength. You would love me still as

I do you

4/1

Amidst cackling guineas and industrious hens, 

I paint with friends along these winding inlets,

I am reminded

That these waterways with their ospreys, eagles,

Herons, geese, ducks, their mirrored surfaces, murky

Greens and sunny glints

Are things I love here, and waking to the soft light

Through treetop windows while the song birds

Begin warming up.