I don’t have much to say about this one. Today we’ll be in the hospital. Next week, a new world. In a month? Who knows. Every season feels like fall these day, minus the comfort of repose.

Confetti

Fall afternoon
where asphalt splits
the glory of some
reticent nature apart and the
contrived quaintness of our street
twenty years-lived
sits picturesque and soft

our voices are silent and
our thoughts are loud
and we are so alone,
next to one another
each a leaf fallen
even as the confetti of mountain ash
dances down like glitter
the aftermath some big show
we've just missed
the end of a celebration
we held no part in

Tomorrow we run more tests,
tomorrow they measure you again
to see the
failure to thrive
and the insistence of dying thin
rather than living
with anything over your bones
but shivering skin

and the dark bark of trees
reaches up to claw the blue skies
and I hear
you giggling from your stroller
at the leaves of confetti
just somewhere down our street

it echoes, this joy
even as you stare sullen
beside me, alone