What I Should Have Told You

Morning’s blue light lies on the green leaf
softly sloughing its shadow cast off.

A mourning dove echoes the train whistle,
sadly singing of its lost dark.

The sink is full of dishes and black pots,
and stagnant water sitting like glass.

The wind in the raindrops is still as the silence,
still as a mirror in the dark.

Black stripes of shadow fall through the blinds
like a zebra through gold ginkgo leaves.

The sound of the train
fades to a murmur
as the water goes down the drain.