From Now On

Five in the morning
The birds nesting in our orchid trees, placed east,
Begin to sing, welcoming a new day.
And it is as if the sun waits
For their singing before she rises
In full glory
Bursting through our jalousies
Waking our sleeping bodies
The blue of our curtains turn translucent white
 Even the darkest dyes on linen and cotton
Could not contain the light.

Five at dusk,
The birds return home
Perching on the wires
Hanging tangled above our gate facing west.
Twisted from the havoc of Yolanda,
That nobody from the telephone and cable company
Has dared to repair.

Beyond the convoluted reminder
Of the devastation of November eighth,
Is a vision of sunset, skies transforming into night,
Baring her robe of colors --brilliant blue, russet,
Saffron, magenta, purple, neon.

Beautiful. Overwhelming.
It seemed the sunsets have avenged the sorrow
The skies wreaked on That Day.
And as if such beauty is not enough,
The birds sing their aria as they do in the morning.
Signaling the sun leaving.

Leaving.
The trees left That Day.
Fell That Day. Left us barren.
The land stifled with heat,
Despair among other more desperate things.
That Day and in the succeeding days.

But those days have come and those days have gone.

We only have now. Today,
And everyday from now on.