Pyracanthus (2) -- Written a couple of months ago.

Against Winter's dead,
gray air, your red berries bloom
all the more brightly.

Small lupines tinged with
white grow among red flowers.
I forget their names.

The grasses are green
and waving. But, here and there,
a golden poppy.

Across grey skies is
written the tale of our times:
Machined Relief.

Two birds celebrate
Winter's thaw with song, though Spring's
new air is still cold.

At Santa Rita Jail

Ignoring buildings
of sickening mauve, two geese
nestle in green grass.