Almost Intimate

Sad music pours out,
Through screen door into sun.
Tears come to my eyes.

A single crow cries
Louder than the plane above;
Softer than the car.


No forsythia;
Branches betray no petals;
Not even the road.










They're never resting--
Birds sitting perched on a wire;
Ready to take off.

Almost intimate,
Full pink flowers look naked.
I avert my eyes.

On dandelion--
Brown butterfly sits trembling
Before zipping off.










Saint has turned again;
He's pivoted to the left.
(Not political).







Suddenly grows dark;
Only faint marks of the sun
On rim of the clouds.