For sweet howanxious

Why lives on top of a mountain
in a little shack made of applewood
and oak.  She braids hyacinth in her hair.

She doesn’t cry when the weather is harsh,
oh, no, she waits inside, makes tea for When,
and reads Dickinson until it passes.

And if the creek is dry she walks
down the hill, says hello to her neighbor
Who, pats his dog, and then keeps going.

Hope, the thing with feathers
sings in the trees.
Tomorrow is always better.
The world is always more.