Tuesday, April 30, 2013

April 30th

On a lighter and more playful note:

An edge of paper in the sun
coffee rings and my dogs
breathe, laid across the wood,
snouts turned window ward.
the afternoon falls through the glass,
measured out in insect song
and shadows stretching.
I play with words
like games pieces with loose rules.
time falls by, the vacuum forgotten
the pool man cometh on his casual
southern schedule- sometime today-
maybe tomorrow.
some green bunched up bright outside,
a bouquet of light and leaves
framed in a dusty sill.
I mark this point like my personal flag
planted here- on this day
in this moment
of my thirty fifth year, am I.
I am here.
my dogs certainly agree;
they wake to ward off
the mailman’s ominous approach
and then greet me, their word-playing
beloved person-
giver of the food and
guardian of the back door.