baby's breath

it is world

when you hold him close

and he is sleeping

sometimes

in short shallow sweet puffs

sometimes

in long contented chest-raising sighs

sometimes

it is through congested struggling passages

but always there

the surest sign of life

of being

of presence in this world

so tired of the harsh cynical breathing of winter people

and his sure lungs

breathe the flute of spring

leading us into

garden of good

Roger's awake haiku

there are tales to tell

eyes open focused and free

to absorb and learn

reading Aristotle to Roger

because total trust

because a father’s voice

because words dance

because blankets swaddle

because trees point

because blossoms

because city surrounds

because boys

because it’s never too

because families form

because journeys

because time

because 2016

because smiles curve

because spring will

because life

Monk

there’s

someone coming this way dark

coat flapping wind

stride so confident

round sunglasses and no brim hat

I meet him and we walk

along seawall gulls

calling    landing

wings battling breeze

his voice sand and gravel punctures

holes in thick air

tells of surprising swell

of ocean

rogue waves crashing

and the path that we walk

shadows lengthening

and the risks we all must take

coats like wings flying 

to Roger, from Opa

I sing songs to you from

far away as

you lie in bassinet so sweet

and I sing

of skies so blue and

branches true

snow that falls and

raven calls

prairie views and

rainbow hues

story turns and

how one learns

of cleansing rain and

poem’s refrain

a good day’s work we

must not shirk

of guitar strings and

things Santa brings

of confusing thoughts and

grandpa’s knots

a world of places and

endless faces

of fields of grain and

a horse’s mane

the wings of a dove and

God’s great love

these songs I sing from far away

barely above a whisper

so that you are sure to hear