Alison Woolpert

New Year’s Day ahead of where the wave breaks the flight of one tern
	spring melt the tight-lipped family secret everyone knows
by-the-wind sailor no one at his funeral sure of what to say
	a hole in the rock letting the world slip through —late July light
summer moon our paddles dip and tuck the coolness back
	on the porch … the sound of this peach is conversation
the coyote bush bursts open on this side first —why not?
	you swear you can hear the stars —muteness of the moon
drying persimmons this deepening of color so deliberate
	wide winter sky the released doves circle once and are gone

All poems copyright by Alison Woolpert. They may not be used for any purpose without explicit permission.