I watch the wind
softly kiss
the flowers
off the crape myrtles
from the driver’s seat
of my car.

A strange feeling
rises from the bottom
of my chest,
behind my lungs,
as the gust climbs
through the branches
into the blue sky.

With it goes the soreness
in my legs and shoulders.
I long for peace,
a mantle of steadiness
for the tremor
in my hands.

For a moment, clarity breaks through.
Then the clock reminds me
my lunch break is over.
The world rushes back in,
another small mercy gone,
the petal scatter
as I wait for my next breath.