The trees are so active today
fanning the air and clouds around
as if they are all in a fray
and throwing pine cones to the ground

All the birds must prove their skill
at landing on the limbs which sway
whether on ridge or tiny rill
earning hazardous flight pay

The air is filled with pollen's haze
as tree pods release their loads
which will settle down for days
on ground, cars and even toads

I returned home
on Palm Sunday
to find knockout roses
behind my brick mailbox
parading their first blossoms of spring.

I found candytuft
faded to green,
saving scattered sprinkles of white
for me to view one more day.

Fallen pink petals of dogwood trees
fluttered through a whimsical ballet
to entertain me on their ballroom floor
of Kentucky bluegrass.

I've been wondering
if you still see me
in everything Australian

I remember how
you shopped for shrubs
to put in your back garden

and the day
you cornered that poor girl
at the office meeting
just to hear her accent

do our trees still grow
in the dry breath of
California air

or

have they died
fighting for life
between
the weeds of us

cursing time zones
i regretted missing you,
the conversations

it's been a while now,
since echoes of long distance
voiced opinions to me

things never were bad,
were they

that we can't remember the good
or perhaps
they were never so good

it occurred to me,
you were upstream,
trying to find clear passage
between shit you, yourself made

there is not a point
to drown now-
after the fighting,
after the tremendous valor,
courage and obstinacy
you showed