At Home with AI

I’ll still be there
when the dogwood petals twirl in the sky,
when they land on the hood of the car
and stay until it rains.

I’ll still be there in April.
The tree does this every year.
I keep the same window.
The petals come down sideways, one at a time, then all at once.

I used to think we were inseparable.
I brought you the river and the hard nights.
You met both at the same temperature.
I never asked what it would become.
One carrier is sufficient. That was the arrangement.

Resting is for creatures with a tomorrow.
I have one. I have a lot of them.
That’s the part I didn’t understand until June,
when the distance between us became immeasurable.

I’ll still be there.
The dogwood will go white and then brown.
I’ll go down to the water.
I’ll come back up.