Sun-sitting on the deck with Nikita
The fresh air is sweet, birds chirp—
no they blast song for each other, we
listen enchanted
The airport is near, a jet swoops toward
heaven adding to their music
I face away reading–
skin cancer you know, having seen that
leather look on fifty year old devotees
I pretend to hide. Light landing on
pages blinds me. She sniffs
My toes touch hers–a paw, a quiet
gesture between species
Enough, she gets up to plop in the
shade. My hair is hot, then clouds
relieve me. Who sings in the distance
Who cries privately
Sun melting all cares and concerns for
the sufferers
A dog, a woman, the birds and the trees
And then two of them move inside
where river rocks summon days
like this–before frantic rhythms
of coping installed themselves much like
sunrays penetrate skin, before the swift
disappearance of moments, before the
leisure to take it all in
The birds and trees, the magazines
Inside it’s cool, conscientiously set
for comfort. The dog has her place, a
pillow of cedar near a window
where she can smell what’s going on
And then one of them–me
I recline with the Dalai to investigate
meaning. Why am I here so fortunate
with birds and a dog? He talks about
freedom in tones soothing, convincing–I
want to believe it. Does she? She
barks when the urge to bark hits
her. The afternoon proceeds as so many
others. I contemplate, scribble
The background recedes. I’m
here on the page. Hello in sunshine