Those blue skies lie this morning
but I am thankful for them nonetheless.
The north wind tells a truer tale
& the branches of the tree outside my bedroom window
bend to its time-worn words.
In the warming soil intervals of green push through.
I live so lightly in my mild discomfort,
toiling only to stitch waking hours together
while the world falls apart.
My mother forgets what day it is
& I gently absolve both of us
by reminding her this is how
we live now, our stopping cues
reduced to light & dark & breath.