cutting rhubarb
for my neighbour’s neighbour—
wind-blown smoke
Sandra Simpson
goldfield cemetery—
my ancestors in the section
with no headstone
Sandra Simpson
summer byway—
i roll down the window
and become dog
Sandra Simpson
a blizzard of petals—
we all laugh
in the same language
Sandra Simpson
late winter . . .
a memory of tulips
slowly surfaces
Sandra Simpson
abandoned station—
a jaunty tail
on the dust-drawn cat
Sandra Simpson
Echidna Tracks 