Premonition is an Unwanted Thing

Sometimes when sunlight is trapped
within clouds & cages, I hear
the hiss & fall of life support, scrub
hands that failed to touch.

(Why did I turn away? Judgement 
clouded empathy.  Try again. 
Why did I turn away? Your need 
was too overwhelming.)

Sometimes an Iris blooms when
it’s supposed to sleep. Sometimes
a message of peace appears
at your feet.

Na/GloPoWriMo day 10 prompt: Today, write your own meditation on grief. Try using Brock’s form as the “container” for your poem: a few short stanzas, with a middle section in which a question is repeated with different answers given.