with their pipes
hunched under spring sky
old men make clouds
in the widow's veil
stars
blown from dandelion
spring breeze
puffs through the skeleton
of a bird
the farmer talks corn,
pointing where the corn
is talking
my mother stock-still
before the balloon I put
on my father's grave
he removes his glove
to point out
Orion
walking in the rain
I pass a stranger
I know
______________________
Raymond Roseliep
