Where Is She Going?
You wake up
and have your little dialog
with death, then you
wonder why your glasses
are on the floor.
Your mind
is a conveyer belt
bringing you
snatches of dreams
to assemble,
already flapping apart
in the winds of morning:
a sad man and woman
natter for attention,
prayer flags, the briefest
of smiles, and down
the green
patchwork
mountainside,
the only one
you loved, walking
into light.
_______________
Ralph Earle