Sickly sun on sickly trees,
whose spindly branches crave
a better life, lets me know
I am here. I have arrived.
No welcome will greet me
and no change will be registered.
It doesn’t matter. The sad,
pale yellow light will not
shift for me, and the weak
willed wind will continue
in the same unbroken breath.
I will not impinge upon
the consciousness of this
ailing town, and not on
yours, either. I will come
and go, unseen and unheard,
unmissed and unkissed, and you
will never know.
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