Against the stark light of sky
of this dusty day,
a thin branch moves.

She feels the aches and flatness
of a long week-
same old routine.
She looks at the kalanchoe plant-
a splash of intense red-
She bought it last week for colour.

He is taking a shower.
Fog develops-
pleasant scent of soap-
washing off a winter addiction.

Leaves drop off the weeping fig.
She sips her chamomile tea.
Sun exposes the dust.
Tv blares another ad
and the squirrels chomp on the
morning nuts.
She sweeps up the leaves.

Today
she realizes
she has no plan...

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