on being the season, changing

wearing my silk robe
before breakfast

more curled bamboo leaves on the porch
each day, thoughts migrate

back to the mountain. My suitcase
not yet out, I pack my life inward.

a friend writes, confides
her fear of death.

I like the leaves, their sound beneath
my Thai broom as I sweep.

Copyright 2008 by Jill Stephanie Morgyn