Across the street
the sun is shining,
I am regretting my life,
contrasting wants
and needs, weighing,
not the decisions themselves,
but the basis for them.

The five-toed cat wants out.
So do I, but there’s no one
here to open the door,
or show me where it is.

He says, “It’s the time of year,”
no comfort to me, as usual.
On t.v. a grandmother rides
off in the night on a Harley.
That would not do for me.

Last night’s popcorn
lingers on the counter,
the popcorn always fails
now that I cook electric.
The compost begins to smell.

I am profoundly lonely
for my life,
the one that eludes me,
obscured by the details,
like a bright bloom
submerged in the wax
of a candle.
There are things I wish I knew
but can’t, Road-Not-Taken views
I have no way to see.
But that is too cliche
to talk about.

The morning mist curtains my house,
I retaliate by eating popcorn.