Northerly wind

In the room crammed with senile chronicles
a clock hangs like a hungry buzzard

Marigolds arranged in circular queues
lend a golden blush to a bland balcony

Pinnate leaves and wispy petals quiver
fondled by a chivalrous gust

One bluebird inspects the wavering "Y" of a tree
and each evening my long-known envelopes

become more auburn