i.
butterflies are back
in the yard
after another cold winter.
they drift in lazy circles
over a sea
of bone-white snowdrops,
multi-colored wings catching
warm currents
from a late spring breeze.
ii.
neglected for hours,
my morning coffee
has surrendered its heat.
no longer constrained
by a cubicle
and corporate calendar,
whole chunks of time erode
like grains of sand
down an hourglass.
iii.
i’ve stopped counting
the seasons
since she passed away.
and yet her absence
lingers in the shadows
of every room,
palpable like ringing
in my ears or the low hum
of white noise.
