Brigitte Goetze

Gauze covering
the landscape’s sores,
easing sorrow—
if only for a moment—
over what’s been done.

White canvas
where — like Chinese flowers —
sweet-gum and maple pose
in their fiery finery,
all soft on the edges.

Subtle wrapping
of droplet-rich air
envelop pink rose buds:
enough warmth to embolden
blossoms in December.

Moist kisses
on wood stove-dried skin,
deep-reaching caresses
refresh every cell
all the way to the lungs.

Faceless gossip:
steps crunch gravel,
intruding evening’s
white silence, tune
ears to alert listening.