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Sometimes There's Nothing Else To Do (revision)

Dusk,
sitting in the bedroom
looking into the master bath,
I’m transfixed by the view
through the small, west window.

Bare branches
of a dying crab apple tree,
black, tentacled
by hundreds of water sprouts.
Two large branches
form a cross
framed in the window.

Behind, darkening sky,
a gauze of clouds glows
with the day's remaining light
surrounded by tumors
of black clouds
encroaching slowly, silently.

As I sit, numbed by news
of the war, tentacles suck
life from the tree.
Deep cavities in its trunk
like craters left by bombs.


Sometimes There's Nothing Else To Do (revision)

Dusk,
sitting in the bedroom
looking into our
master bath,
I am transfixed
by the view
through the small,
west window.
Bare branches
of a dying
crab apple tree,
black,
tentacled
by hundreds
of water sprouts.
Two branches
form a cross
framed in the window.
Behind, darkening sky,
gauze of clouds
glows with the day's
remaining light
surrounded by
a tumor of black clouds
encroaching slowly,
silently.
As I sit, numbed
by news
of the war,
tentacles
suck life
from the tree.
Deep cavities
in its trunk
like the craters
left by bombs.
I'll have to chop it down
with the edge
of my hand.*




* a line from a Jimi Hendrix song

Yes, this is much better. It works fine.

Yes. We who write are obliged to chronicle.
I like the overall feel; the security of N home vs the atrocities in the news..

Really like this imagery:

gauze of clouds
glows with the day's
remaining light
surrounded by
a tumor of black clouds
encroaching slowly,

I commented on this when it was Bergman. Yes, the ending is very much better. I do prefer the original formatting in stanzas (but that's just me)
Like Bob I love your imagery here

gauze of clouds
glows with the day's
remaining light
surrounded by
a tumor of black clouds
encroaching slowly,

Your second version is an improvement, more compactness
makes easier to read, to assimilate.
It's one of those days when we have little to do but sit
and nature imposes its presence, and yet the looming
disaster far away broods in our mind. The cancer
of those clouds is an apt metaphor.

Well done. No criticisms. Your work has paid off.