For My Thirty-third Forty-fifth Birthday
Four times ten has run
around the globe. Along the way
she picked up five more:
a gull winging to fortune,
a wasp buzzing villainy,
a blond crested hawk surveying the increments,
two mourning doves in flight
The companions, with sails blazing,
frequent glassy seas, blue-green mountains.
Poem to Myself the Day I Edit the Past
Remember to watch fire
as it burns
between the fibers of a log
that layer above crisp orange embers,
its flames breathing through
the saw’s cuts that slant perpendicular
to the sequence
of the tree’s narrow years.
Amy Nawrocki 