Astonished

From my second-story window I watch
           the purpling black band push
           below the white surf of cloud
           a rolling, distant murmur
           following behind.

A bowl of gentians on the window sill
           are speechless.
The mockingbird mocks.
A boy wandered across the lawn earlier
           looking for a ball with his beagle.
I need some help myself, I think.

What’s lost in the dry months gets found
           only with a kind of random serendipity:
           loose change in a cup, a flyer
           on the end table advertising hearing-aids,
           a single book of matches.
It’s been decades since I’ve smoked.
I’d not planned to stay. I know that.
And yet here I am settled
           at the same address, at home
           with the familiar losses still
           astonishing me.