33

We sit in a little cafe
run by latter-day hippies
with hand thrown crockery
thick and imperfect
dancing with color
plants hang
in macrame slings
I finger the three-tined fork
as you gaze at me
through the coffee’s steam

It’s time for an adventure
I spread the map

 

I think this still needs some fiddling.

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30

The soft
spring breeze
saunters
through the screen door
as though it knew
how we longed for it
dreamed of it
in our winter hearts
It whispers
of warm, green days
of dirt and sprouting seeds
as it carries April away