Misimpression

Snow blankets in a white-dappled veil
Pushed softly by the wind like a curtain
Behind the window, in a cave of warmth
A viewer finds it deceptively gentle

My Favorite Hour

The warmth of three o’clock
Is hot cocoa after the steam melts
Into a white-ghost wisp
Is the sun suspended on her swing, falling
Just below the apex
Is the lingering memory of a kiss
Embraced before it grays
Recalled on the last note —
The splendor of a serenade

Antisocial Behavior

Sometimes I’d like to put a Do Not Disturb sign
On my face when smiling is too much
When I don’t wish to pretend to care
Or have enough energy to wave your competitive talking
Away as insecurity or envy
Most of all, I want to keep my joy close
A candle sheltered from the wind with my own chest
An exclusive warmth to luxuriate in

Mid-September Morning

A chill along the fingertips
Between the casings seek a cool air
Permeating cracks and forgotten windows
Thrown open in the blaze of summer
The Indian time has snapped
Frost threatens
Arising, a craving for crimson and ochre
Colors of warmth