pink sky
just a thin strip
pale
silhouetted trees
eyes start to close.
sweet rest
to come, perhaps.
but i wait
for words, again
and again.
the wind woke me
i noticed
the rhododendron pedals
had fallen
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
