Titles by Kij Johnson are available for purchase online

The warm wind,
     and I bought irises and daffodils—
          spring is early.

The trees have all half-lost their blooms,
     but I am pink with joy.

The wind’s low sigh
as it eases across the
the roofless silo.

The breeze is so soft
that I listen

July in Kansas
the back seat of a gray Ford
hot as fireworks

One purple flower—
the wasp and the butterfly
take turns

The weather
     warm and wet and waiting
          for the storm…

After the rain:
I inhale
air as warm and wet as breath.

Summer night:
the cicada rattles on
keeping no secrets.

Deep grass:
butterflies everywhere
bright as autumn leaves.

The lake thick with leaves and sluggish,
So the ducks sleep in the grass.

Did I see
the bird in the leafless tree
before I wrote it down?

Calm, wet morning—
the sound of sparrow-wings
in the hedge

A tap on the window:
a moth
on this cold autumn night.

The moonless sky
is sharp with wind:
winter, so close.

The cricket’s voice
slow with cold
and alone

scraping the windshield
white with surprise
water startled into frost

Snowy night—
even the cops
spin three-sixties.

Cold dawn—
the steam whistle
coughs a white cloud.

The morning’s first whistle
shocks the shivering air.

By the road,
a black cat walks
on dirty snow

two crows
picking at the empty corn field

Winter night—
under the blankets
the cat purrs

Winter dawn—
the chickadee’s two notes:
“I’m cold.”

Snowy dawn—
The chickadee’s two notes:
“Feed me.”

Snowy day:
the hungry squirrels
come close.

Black birds
on a telephone wire
spaced out like beads

Black bird at the top
     of a winter-bare tree—
the wind is colder,
     but the view is good

© 2007 Kij Johnson