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.