Die Of Old Age

Homeless, a shoulder-less woman

Swings from the old fruit tree

She takes not a single sweet bite

Homeless, the woman has no hunger

Swings from the fruit tree

And for a while she names it her home

Under the rain that nourishes her alone

The fruit tree holds her

Warms her

And she takes its old advice

He tells her to put her stock in the ground

To not call him home anymore than he calls her 

Again homeless the old woman

Leaves the branch to the lopsided forest

And exists somewhere far from here