Afternoon
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.
