Lovely lilacs on your windowsill wrestle for the sun,
as thrumming hummingbirds wait their turn for a bit of a sip.
Time is fractured for now—money is of no matter at all.
Honey from your hive is sweeter than the kisses of all young lovers.
For the first time, you can jump over the moon when no one can see
how ungainly you ‘ve become from counting your billable hours.
In a nursing home I saw a dapperly dressed man lying on the top
of a fully made bed with his shoes on—is that you waiting to go?