Nomad


Water makes its way through the world.
For once, the smaller the body the better–
uneasy for what can’t be named,
like knowing how to be sad before you knew what it was.

There was always something in your voice
I could never put a finger on.
I took a turn for the worse.
There was no one else at the end of that.

A jay clears the gutters.
How it hurt,
when I looked up–
blue bird, grey-blue sky,

the bare plum tree.
Before you knew it,
flowers where
the branches were.