warnings of inconvenient weather

she's counting duck down willows
in a dangerous storm
people outside should avoid windows

short songs are winter - the sum
of her stories in bubbling stew
and cozy fresh-baked bread

at mind’s sunset, we all say grace
fortunate as a howling baby, we have our
voice and what we see in the water

my sweet, your feet gleam like fishes
your blessed hand is a cathedral

the poet was in love (she whispered)
he was in love with the creatures of the sea
he loved them more than her     she lives

in bristling places
between the rocks