to the sun and the weather of the day
as the wind chime cheers them on
and a spider’s web holds them up.
Birdhouse
Nearness
Tim
seeks me
in the garden
small
white
butterfly
always
hovering
nearby
Ghost
that I glimpse
from the side of my eye
Darting through blossoms
resting on leaves
taking advantage of sunshine and breeze
Pointing out a shapely cloud
waiting on my mailbox
inquisitive antenna cocked
Reminding me
as mortality
rages on
death
is not
the final stop.
