October hangs in the sky.
Remembering last year’s
winter energy breaking free,
running wild,
I wonder what happened –
life held in place,
like an apron safety-pinned
to your dress that
can’t be shed,
my view still the same,
the bougainvillea branch bumping
against the window by my desk.

My sister grows weary,
ready to shed the whole of her life,
not just the view from her window.
Would she feel this way
if she had had a change
of scenery now and then,
movement in her life
beyond bed to chair,
chair to bed,
kitchen to deck
and back to bed.

I hear a crow
call out in flight,
see the eucalyptus
bend deep with the wind.
They do not consider
dying young,
nor do I.