 |
| The Playhouse |
there
is a dog lying on my foot
in
the sunshine on the floor
inside
the open door of my nook
my
special place
where
I come to pour words out
and
thoughts cover paper
penciled
in
in
the quiet of distant cars
an
acorn drop
dog
stepping on leaves
people
flying away
climbing
higher
pushing
air and machine
too
many thousands of feet
dog
stands up looking
for
lunch leftovers
tossed
out in the yard
lapping
up water
from
last night’s rain
a
spider’s webbing shining
spun
between two grounded leaves
diamond
beads
dropped
from a cloud
drying
gutters full of fire when hit by the noon sun
I
can count the trees
but
not the leaves
magical
scarlett
browning
on the ground
overhead
but not overheard by me
people
traveling speeding time higher
but
I can’t even
count
the leaves
pushed
from my trees
no
man can
No comments:
Post a Comment