"Ice Cave" is a newer poem, in retrospect. Tried to be more opened-minded to the larger scope. This is from November, 2013, looking back some years.

Ice Cave

Exit faithfully
Each day
Peck cold cheek
Exacting my heart attack
Remodel time into money

Should love
To turn once
And ask
"What would you like to do today?"
And mean it

In her own tumult
And chill
She remodels
money
And kids
Shoelaces
Wrapping paper
Until screaming
In silence

Echo-empty
Despite hollow-fill
I escape some nights
Run, really
Tug at July-stained collars
Release the chill
Sigh, tanning
Under warm starlight


"My Apricot" is a tribute to a real tree in a real backyard who really made a difference.  "Who" is sincere in all references.  The tree was a presence; a spirit in, of and upon itself.

My Apricot

Most beautiful
Graceful
Tree
I should have better
Pruned
She grew her own way
Created a natural seat
at her base
For thinking

Pushed forth blossoms
And fruit
Some days
Overflowing my arms
Until she could
Bear no more

In decline
large sections
Browned and fell
Though she pushed forth
scant blossom
And harvest
Till the end

Tipping low flower
To my Mother
In her chair
To enjoy
Last charms
Last decline
Together
Neither knew

I felled her
In respect
That Fall
Her raggedness
No longer her
Begged
To be taken down

She warmed me
many a night
Dancing
In brief firelight
I swear
I smelled
Her blossoms
Each time

Fine
Small Box
From her seat
holds
A loved one
For all eternity