as old as god

and the sun set like a crying child
and in my apartment door way
she was spitting up her bones
onto the door mat, and sometimes hitting
the screen door

and the grass and the
trees and
the squirrels
and the cat
we all looked at her anxious expression
carved in mortar, broken like porcelain
volcanic in attitude

and the crying stopped, in time for
the stars to whisper me a little
something,

advice from the universe
is so quiet sometimes-
so easy to mistake,

and i looked up and i looked down
and i noticed the same things,

those sparkly shining roses, dew on the
grass, stars in the sky

begging for an ending