Last night, I did not think I would make it in a world that offers no consolation for lapses into loneliness.
I did not think my next love would be sprung
from what now is keeping her from me.
I only saw the sky darkening,
as if it was my first night,
the first time I saw the day's curtained death.
But now, I hear the birds chatter their evening gossip.
I see the robin poking the grass for worms.
The petals of the petunias are perked
and turned to the west last light.
The church bell dongs the hour,
a fat squirrel shimmies down a wrinkled bark.
A whirligig spins itself to find a seeding soil.
An eastern breeze is reminding the old silver oak
of its roots, its ability to bend a bit.
And so too, I am hungry,
leaning into the last slide of the sun's shine,
as I feel a stronger self tonight,
unafraid as night descends.
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