Reading Sylvia with Rain in the Forecast on Friday Afternoon

sitting in the side yard

reading Collected Poems

of Sylvia Plath on a Friday afternoon

light breeze sways

upper limbs of trees

shadows dance

is it mottled sunlight

or mottled shade

does it matter

I’d like to tell her

it will be alright

but she wrote in permanent ink

shroud poems woven

with anguished threads

dyed in hues of longing

death needs not be hurried,

clouds rumble on the horizon,

it gathers you in, eventually

5-10-24