Curiosity Unquenched

And the birds begin to migrate
I wrote that
a moment ago
last year
gray hairs, wrinkles, aching joints
overnight
I blinked, lost time
decades

The coldness of soil sifting through fingers
the lingering smell of tomato plants
on sun-heated skin
the crookneck leaves ambering
next year’s garden plotting
as days shorten, a lingering chill
maybe just inside 
of me
thermometer reads 85°F
until tomorrow, tomorrow

Your father died, mother died
birthed you to die
would anyone say no if asked?
Not want to live to die?
Would you miss this?
These chirpy chickadees, the orange zinnias,
the sweetness of a nectarine
juice dripping along your wrist
the iciness of a snow angel
on a slope on a leaden afternoon

But to surrender it all
in the ebbing light
the ebbing heat
the entire ebbing

souls winter migration

and that last thirst of curiosity unquenched