Dragons in the Gum Tree Grove

The Lost Day

We watch the sun, cast up from night's
uneasy stomach, smear the sky.
“Today's a day for launching kites,”
you say, “to chase the clouds and run
their fingers through the wind's hair high
above the trees.”  I hear the drone
of regret for this day lost to work
under your words.  “Tomorrow, perhaps,
you'll have time.”  “Tomorrow will rain;
the wind is south.”  Behind us the dark
retreats westward.  Condensed fog drips
from eucalyptus along the road.
“Look,” I say, “the morning weeps
on the windshield, knowing you are sad.”

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Updated last on:  2001/06/03