the night’s here.
i pull the sheets up around my neck
& return again.
the crows
sit on branches
barely holding buds
caw
the rain didn’t arrive when we expected it to.
even the leaves were mistaken.
growing old no longer worries me
who’s to say it will even happen
my worry now
is learning a language no one else speaks
and speaking of worries
with words no one understands
it is sunday
a child somewhere
laughs
in a way a child does
I fold laundry
that is still warm
i awoke
but the cat remained asleep
i did not move
the sun
it illuminates
the telephone wires
then it sets
