By Audrey Alma Meyer

Some narrow beams of light

Penetrate the bedroom

The sun opens wide-

I feel alive, in bloom.

Ready for morning,

Perhaps not full, yet ready.

Daylight calls,

Unfolding, living, expressing moments.

Death pokes at me, though.

I wonder-

Is it a sign of distress, or of closeness?

I’m not sure.

We hear of too many deaths.

Not mine, yet they feel so near.

Life is frail, ephemeral.

Heartbroken by others’ grief.

How delicate we are!

Fragile we are,

Fragile we stay.

No space to sway.

With the violence of wars,

My imagination goes overboard,

Consumed by terror,

Facing this world’s mirror.

I see a drifting wreck.

I could be closer to this… life

Or closer to that… death

Somehow, contiguity prevails.