The Mud From the Last of Winter

The coffee pots whistles a little
The fishtank an eternal spring trickling
Traffic comes and goes by ceaselessly
And on wet days sound like spaceships
Whizzing through the air.

My flowers are wilting today
The daffodils still yellow, but bent
The daisy's a little better and wilting, too
They rest in center of dining room
A sweet scent in a world of latent memories

My Mom used to sit there, and Dad would too
Now the silence fills the room with their remembered smiles
And all the silent noises are absent, that used to drive me crazy
Now just the house creaking, and furnace heating
While the traffic continues to pass through our town

I do not remember summer, or last spring
My mind is full of sleep and quiet, made light by birdsong
I do not weep constantly over what I've lost
But my mind makes lists of stuff I do and don't want
Finding the labor is daunting when I write down all my dreams.
There isn't many to help, I'm isolated having found heaven
Here aren't many to talk with, I'm lonely having found myself

And so I travel a bit, smoke, and talk with friends
They've always been few, but the right kind
And I write messages to you, encrypted, and sent on spaceship through
Merely in hopes, my time is not wasted...
But in having found myself, also knowing myself
And what extends surrounding this small part of Earth I share
With worlds that extend into the Universe's further reaches.