November 19

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And here I am, again
seeking the simplest solace

the flicker of pink
in an underwing

don’t know if you saw it
which tips me over

again, the elegant branching
of a dormant magnolia

like alveoli against
the darkening sky

but too brittle
for breath, also

but this illusion
of inertia

is beguiling
for once flight

seems frantic
or perhaps just out

of reach
to stay rooted exactly

here without even the weight
of a thought of returning

no movement no reckoning
that might be fine

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