an old cat
I stroke
his bony spine John Stevenson
the moon
seemingly
alone
John Stevenson
vernal equinox
a chill
in the warmth
bare branches
the loneliness of
not knowing
John Pappas
autumn chill
I seed my lawn
with crows
after the storm—
the bright shards of the
broken pot
dark matter
the secrets I keep
from myself
morning drizzle
raindrops waking
on a gray roof
John Grey
calm peaceful village
smoke from beyond the hilltops
where the fighting is
railway station on a disused line
one old brown suitcase
unclaimed these thirty years