i. March 26: Equinox

Ice-clear raindrops clap
on pines, recalling their fall
through the freezing wind.

ii. April 16

Missing the bumper,
a small, half-grown squirrel
rushed across the road.

iii. May 20
Time trips fast, but I
am slow and steady in my
careful memories.

iv. June 17
Resilience: I
swam as far as the Flood, eyes
on the grey-red dawn.

v. July 22
Ten years is nothing
to the laughing blink of an
embarrassing tale.

vi. August 22
I count my hours in
rings of tea stains in the mug,
like a growing tree.