High Clouds, Quick Change

"What things are steadfast?" ~ Linda Gregg

Not the grass, longer now in the sun;
nor the sun, trickling behind clouds.
Here is the wind gathering force,
and the water always rushing forward
or away. The same bend in the road,
the same dip in the underpass— but
they fill like a different size cup
every new season. I write letters
and ask for stamps with trains 
or birds on them. Last month, Sheryl
took and weighed them; today, Loretta.
At the corner café, an engraved plaque
hangs over an empty armchair; 
on the bridge, someone has left 
votive candles and flowers. I lay
my head on night's pillow. I fall
asleep on the other side of the moon.
In some plays, an actor might turn
a coat inside out to say one 
more day has passed on the road.