Friday, September 27, 2013


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

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