From the "Union Pier" poems:

First Day

The season of snow has given way to this month of May

when wildflowers tumble out of the darkness, strutting

their warm purples and deep yellows out on the prairie. 

After this morning’s rain, the sun slices in-between

impossibly-high red oak branches, its lukewarm rays diving

all the way down into the forest floor where

the smell of the wet woods rises

to meet my deep breathing.

Excited --

like children on Christmas morning -- we

descend the rickety, narrow steps to wander

on the wide beach, our bare feet sinking into

the unwalked sand, freshly dried and loose

between our toes.  This is all ours!  All ours

to contemplate and listen to and smell,

a peaceful pleasure for two, a miracle. 

David skips stones into the lake’s shining sheets

but I can’t.  I

don’t know how

no matter how hard I try to hold the flat

pebbles just so, fling them straight out

with a twist

of the wrist, wishing for at least one bounce

or two.  Before long,  the fog -- that portent of cooling

temperatures -- begins to travel slowly overhead.   With the mist

on our shoulders, our backs, we quicken our pace,

craving some warmth in the face of so much dampness.  

And climbing the shaky stairs up to our newly rented cottage I

wonder how much of an urban dweller I am,

needing cellular phones and emails

to feel a part of this world,

when

a glimpse at a red cardinal perched on the slanted roof,

its black throat gleaming as he takes flight

should be enough,

when

in the black and quiet night the sound of waves crashing on the shore

should suffice.