Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Behind Clouds or Fog

I'm waiting for words
to tumble down from the sky
along with the forecast of rain.

And while the leaves are
lifting from trees like birds
fleeing on the wind from the
unspoken threat of a harsh

the breeze here still unseasonably
warm, as strong as it is...
stars are visible, intermittant
behind clouds or fog.

What is there to think of
at 4 a.m.
before coffee, while waiting
for that dark aroma that never

Hazy mind this early in the half-light
of a balcony taking in the refreshing
wind of this mid-November, too warm
undercover, half asleep yet unable
to sleep, and I welcome the coolness
of here...

What goes through your mind while staring
at the flowers I still call my mother's
geraniums 'cause that was her thing -
marveling at how they've survived so
late in the season, still blooming new
some two months beyond the anniversary
of her death.

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