A Rough Draft

This Morning

Bare branches
outside the window
make a picture
more tragic
than imagined.
The fog highlights
dark lines, erasing
the rest.
The wavering heat
sits in the window
and I wonder
about my life,
my children.

A pedestrian
was hit by a car
at 4:45
this morning—
forty-four years old.
Did he see himself,
sixty-five, grandkids
at his knees,
reading stories,
sagacious and revered,
reciting poetry,
stirring curiosity?

Religion is needed
this morning
just to help
fit pieces together
and pray

that maybe
there are reasons
behind circumstance,
behind coincidence,
and not just science,
primitive desires
and rude chance
running the show.