WATERMARK

The car won’t start
and the toilet keeps
             fractured dreams
running.  The parakeet
died. White fur all along
             shattered
the river- bank, but no
blood, no bones. Broken
             limbs
glasses. Garden
pavers scattered
             digits
with petals of lilac,
mountain ash,
              strewn across
rain. Iridescent
black bird ravishes
             a twisted
the feeder. Shrill
whistles and ravenish
              landscape
clunks. Dark rising
river, muddy, foaming.

This past week I’ve felt like that cartoon character that walks around with a cloud over his head — seems that everything I touch, breaks. Including my computer.

But now I’m back online, and trying to find, again, gratitude.