Day expires,
the sky crackles;
color stretches and stitches across the sky

At the water’s edge,
where blue is born and salted
I play out a life of slight consequence-
ordinary, bordering on laughable.

dogwood branches,
reach against the fog-
woozily, they scratch at the sinking sun

a voice lilts
and sharply blooms

I hear my mother,
her faint sing-song prayer far inside my mind

the voice,
likely the same as my mother’s mother;
bathed in tribute,
awakens my heart in turn.

fixed to folds of memory,
timber pretends to be more than echo.
and with a voice patient enough to reach long forgotten keys,
her song reclaims me