Aubade

 

 

the old woman in my mirror craves

little more now

than kinship with the living

 

she claims sisterhood with every fleeting thing

    slug and sparrow

    mite and minx

    seed  and spore

    beetle and bear

        the mighty and minuscule

    

the woman in the mirror savors  

fire    laughter     the longed-for song     

and language not her own

 

she leaves her meal

on the table

growing cold

 

hungers only   

for morning

    then morning again