Pale pink clouds streak dimming sky
I stand four stories above city river
alone on balcony in cypress branches.
Grackles struggle raucous to settle
for shortest night. Diners, drinkers
at restaurants below laugh, shout life.
Cool wind stirs hot air, lifts my hair.
Cycle shifts away from increase.
Reminds me, no matter how long
the day, how short the night,
death always sits at the table.