The branches tremble like a leaf in the wind.
My eyes stare through the window,
to the place beyond the garden, where my cat is sunning himself in a field of
roses. I wish he would come home. I miss stroking his back, his ears, I miss talking
to him even though he cannot understand a thing I say.
I go into the living room and flip through my magazines, constantly aware of
The passing time. It passes quicker now, quicker than a rabbit with wings,
Nothing can move me, not even still breath.
My memories sift like sand.
They rot like forbidden fruit.
Fruit that I refuse to eat.
My mouth is full and ripe.
The garden moves in the wind.
I rise, exhausted, from the bank of the riverAnd cross to tides unknown.