Indhu

The sky is streaked pink

in readiness for the sun.
Egrets glide by 
and oddly some painted storks.
How are they still here
and you are not?
A morning ordinary like another 
but it is not. 

Nothing mortal of you remains 
but what endures in the sky, 
the sun, the wild birds.
What is your breath is rising
right now as breeze from the sea.