The hawk flies high
In the clear blue sky
Reflected in the pool below,
A messenger I know. 

The hawk knows me, 
My husband said
Adding seeds to the feeder,
I am the feeder of birds. 

Now at the poolside,
The wind lifting its wings
The hawk knows me, 
I am the writer of words. 

April 20, 2021

Kristin Moyer

White of pear
Pink of cherry 
Purple of plum
Tender green of leaves

On my window sill the wren sings
Delirious with spring

As though it were here 
For the first time.


April 13, 2019