Little Breathers

I dedicate this song to its subjects:
The sprinkler system I set for a few weeks around the blind center-
Rationing water for the calla lilies and potted palms-
Serving the fragrant life of petunias as a part-time job.
Scent bearers, pollen producers,
The hot heart of the mulch pile and
Rings of dirt around my ankles.
The flaked and begging skin of my ears,
My favorite hat,
     black-billed, filthy beyond repentance,
All I left and that left me then,
Loves, friends, and gifts.

Existing without looking,
I said farewell to my
Fondest friend long missing to 

Chase the racing future.
I can't remember what it was like to be that old or not knowing how to stay or go forward,
Neither urgent nor newly born.

I remember the plants and little breathers,

Striving in fresh wet air-
They taught me
To lean into the sun
Midst those who would lean so beside me.