Asphalt Raveling In Lockdown

After dark the salamanders cross empty
roads in Maine…a lone coyote walks
San Francisco. Someone saw a fisher cat,
feral, bristling, here on Lincoln Street.

When passers by grow scarce, birdsong fills
everywhere…sparrows, beneath
aria of cardinal, chickadee.  The crow
seated on a tombstone flicks his tail and caws.

Pushed off by burgeoning leaves and wind
that tears and scatters, blossoms spill
from the cherry tree.  The robin cocks his head,
listens for grubs that move beneath the grass.

A panther stalks Paris streets…
goats untether a Welsh town.
Pressed up against stillness, wild
breaks through to breathe.


Small gold honeybees
on blossoms
of tough stemmed
New England ivy.
Nectar scarce,
they needle
tiny blooms, trace
on round bobbins
their white thread,
as Brussels women
in caps, intent over linen
webs draw sweet lace
patterned by September.
Late in the day,
the white butterfly
appears, brushes
the flowers
with random joy.