The Gap's Never Filled

It's seventeen years:
My mother, teacher and eyes.
Gap will never fill.

 

When the sun comes out
It feels like it's the first time.
Then the clouds arrive.

 

The leaves have showered;
My front lawn's a brown carpet.
Still they keep falling.

The lone chicory;
Its petals are falling off.
Look! It has a bud!

There are new owners;
Same empty swing is hanging;
Same ball caught in leaves.

They fall noiselessly:
Floating softly to the ground--
Leaves without a breeze.

 

Morning after rain,
Leaves don't skitter on the road.
They hush their presence.

 

Bottom of the hill;
Brief break of bright sunshine--
Illumination!