An Hospital's Parking Lot

Virgo, Libra, Scorpio
it's a progressive descent.
The voice of the undertow
miles from the sea, spoken
by birches and planes
in the balmy,
sickness night.

Me, you, the autumn dressed
one and the prideful one,
none of us so evil but
it came anyway.
It comes
your way, no matter what,
whirring (softly spoken) in the
breath of all that hums,
that angelic dynamo
runs its course - not under
standing, not pretending to
understand.

Not wanting to understand,
farther yet from sickness:
it's a progressive ascent.
Scorpio, Libra, Virgo