Pageant

    A first-Winter-done maple

    just today

    sports a coppery sheaf of buds

    and the plums

    are dream-clouds

    on a cerulean sky

    – it is only I

     cannot unfurl his heart

    to the pageant.

                        Lonely

     Dog howling midst wide, fenced acres:

      lonely for the ancestral pack
    - for the litter he was born to.

 - Norman Morrissey