after November rains,
traced on the black slate stairs --
leafprints
on mother's birthday
wrapping the fig tree
her mother's ritual
the long, wet slide
of tires meeting slush . . .
then silence, fog
outside the sickroom
from an icicle branch,
a drop falls
amid swirling flakes,
cries of lingering birds
unseen
tree to roof to tree
cheeks bulging with snowy leaves
nest building squirrel
along black branches
clutching clumps of snow --
clusters of buds!