Clash

The day
to the night.
Dark crystal.
And then
the clear.

So the
poor bird,
dead
lies on
the hot
sidewalk


She walks
her dog
slowly,
staring
down the
gray sky

My cactus
keeps growing
higher
for three
years,
I've kept
it alive,
somehow

So obvious,
this whole
poem.

Unimportant,
as words are
to death
and life

And yet,
I write.
Still