Beyond the kitchen window,
a western sky darkens to dusk.
My nose drips raw into
a sink of soapy water and
a day of dirty dishes.
Gloom settles on my shoulders
like a suffocating cloak,
a black hole swallowing light.
From the pond, out of sight,
I glimpse a blue heron, fishing late.
It rises over the garden, banks through
the reddened sumacs, and catches
an updraft into glowing backlit clouds,
teasing a smile of gratitude
from my uplifted face.
