Lost poem of silver and pink

I wander out the window
bored by the conversation on the phone;
Tethered in my cell by debits and credits
that I don't give a damn about.
The sky is lowering,
a silver-gray shadowing
the purples of the wild plums
at the scanty woods' edge.
A hawk flies overhead,
circling a center point
hid in the forest of glass,
the lake a dammed branch of the river
stopped in its tracks.
I do the warrior pose,
a sun salute to the threatening skies,
forgetting to breathe from my soul.
I craft the perfect lyric in my head;
meter and rhyme and imagery to capture
the trees and the skies and the bird.
Then, jolted back to the call,
All is gone in an instant.
I have only the memory
of the beauty of the feeling
I thought I held in my eye.

Later, at home, I look at
the erosion by the mailbox,
the steep drop by the side of the road,
water from the rain dripping slowly
into a deep hole, pooling gently,
flower petals flowing past
to the sewer drain.