an interpretation of silence

a red sunrise into a gray sky casts
her morning in doomsday light.

it doesn't feel like the end,
but she's been wrong before.

clouds don't intend injury--
they satisfy no motive.

there is comfort in the quiet,
no matter how bitter,
reminding her of the black coffee
she can't stomach
without a little sweetness.

she pours a second cup
avoiding an eastern dark--
the sun lost its hold.

the first drops hit the ground,
but she's had enough
symbolism, and the gloom,
like her craving for him,
just another inconvenience
to be ignored.