The World Yesterday

The hurt doesn't go away
despite the passing of the day:
indifferent to the moon
traversing the sky at night
after the sun has taken flight.

It hurts remembering
and this backwards thinking.
An intense heat.
Even the buds opened from the bright day
making it feel like yesterday.

The hurt doesn't go away.

Then, when the rain had
fallen in a summer shower, carrying a myriad
of the flowers scent;
then, when the swooping birds at play
held me silently, dumbfounded by the day.

What can I say about the world yesterday?
The hollowness hurts.

The bruised bark of the tree,
suffering, reaches above me.
A starless sky.
The stillness of air is suffocating,
when it's suddenly battered by a wind that's biting.