Because I do not write, tulips fillwith rain. I lose track of the moon.The air is damp and heavy with spring.Cloud-white parakeet gently cleans the face of her blue mate. Overnightcottonwoods leaf out and this morningpale blossoms grace the ash trees.This orchid stubbornly continues to bloom. On Friday, that unluckythirteenth, my fifty-seventh birthdayfalls. The black… Continue reading