Beneath my patiently dying Jacaranda tree,
Shadow-less light reveals exquisite decay.
The remaining cloud of blue blossoms spin faint fragrance
With each flower spiraling onto the grass.  
My eighteen-year-old dog, Pal, died in his sleep last week.  
Today, an arbor specialist informed me of my favorite tree’s approaching death.   This afternoon, an expert oncologist  
Gave me the brutal data of my own notice to vacate. 
So I slept on the chaise lounge beneath a drifting blue shroud
Of flowers and dreamed of nothing.   All I longed for was
Peaceful emptiness closing on silence,
Serene in its elegance, eternal in its timelessness.  
I drifted beneath blue shadows,
Waiting for nothing and wept soundlessly,
Submerging into sleep,
While shadows of shadows shifted
From darkness
Into darker ness.  
Moon rise reawakened me.  
Angel’s Trumpet’s
Intoxicating scent seeped through faint breeze
With iridescent Moon Flower’s lullaby redolence.  
Nightshade’s bouquet of wonderment stirred me,
So I limped back into my silent house. 
But hunger had deserted me, a symptom of my disease,
And I wandered through empty rooms,
Touching and staring at things.  
I stopped and listened: an occasional car passing,
A distant dog barking, my old refrigerator’s compressor
shuddering to a stop.
Surprising myself, I longed for fire,
Not the flames that consume, but the flames that imbue,
And so went out,
Not to drink, because I was already oddly drunk.  
I felt like I might levitate
At any moment
And glided through empty streets,
Convertible top-down, caressed by ineffable  
Moonlight, benumbed and numbing still,
Intent on feeling again.