The lonely cypress

She stands stalwart, braced against the wind,
her branches, furled like outstretched hands,
reach up to touch the edges of the clouds.
Alone of all her kind, at water's edge,
charcoal, etched on the vast canvas of sky,
an ocean of wonder roiling at her feet,
sunsets to crown her queen at each day's end,
and mountains to distract us in the distance.
Enchanted with the scene, our eyes inhale
the sea, cloud-spattered sky;
the evening light a symphony,
sharp counterpoint to the darkening shore.

Between the showers

The rain has stopped. Let's step outside
and find a path that we've not walked before.
Let's treat this like the new beginning we both wish it could be --
an end to tears; to winter...
Imagine there are crocuses,
edging us toward spring, toward tolerance, and reconciliation.
We could set aside our differences,
clasp hands and walk together toward the sun,
inviting all the fallen leaves to dance beneath our feet,
and smiling at the squirrels who scold us from the trees and beg
for nuts to hide away in case it's all just an illusion
and that damn-ed rain returns.
Oh, never mind, it's back:
I hear the clatter on the skylights and see the patterns on the deck:
You can close the door.