Written by Sharrell Wigal
Now, mornings leave me flabbergasted
as I noodle all possibilities that swarm
into the lunation ahead.
Twenty-eight potent days and nights
to crunch what may be left of my time,
dance in wild silence between breaths,
watch dandelions bless greenness,
float in the bright claret of sunset
become clouds which spin new life.
Still, as celestial light envelops
each evening in patience,
I smile at the quilts of longing,
map the crooked jitter of autumnal leaves
that sway, then fall again and again,
know I to shall fall, only once this time.