SEEING RED

Tomorrow morning
I will step outside
and on the Austrian Pine
hope to see
the crimson flash
of the cardinal's wing
foretelling the day to come.
We will bow
each to the other
and await the sun.
Even the squirrels
will pause and take notice.
This is my fondest hope
for I have grown weary
of the egotism
the self-preening
of the crows each morning.
How dare they
act so human.

Eurythmic

He hears "When Tomorrow Comes"
and thinks he knows
something about tomorrow
and he thinks this
every ten minutes or so,
yet each time it is
a new thought tied
to a vague memory. 
He still recalls my name
most of the time, though
with ever greater struggle.
I know that soon
I too will slip
into his mind's shadow.