I look up
just before dusk
and catch a glimpse
of the blue sky
that was supposed to be
ours today,
according to the weatherman,
upon whom I rely
to forecast my days.

That elusive blue
peeking out
from gray cloud cover,
patchy in parts,
giving way
to bits of pale pink
as the sun sets
over the garden—
the yard— the house—
the neighbors and the dogs—
and over the day
we should have had today.

Claire Juno, © 2013