Steam rises off the
coffee
and an angel peers in the window
to see what I’m
reading.
An owl shuffles along a
branch
and a dog on three legs
sniffs the air.
A stonemason makes
tombstones
and a nurse studies the
human heart.
The dog watches for the
angel
with her bad foot to her
ear.
The city sleeps
on a rush of wing.
on a rush of wing.
A daughter's porch is a calm
oasis
of mint and spider
plants, peppers and basil.
Little pots of sweet
peas awaiting
germination line the
sills.
She moves them around to follow the sun.
She moves them around to follow the sun.
Grandmother had sweet
peas around the well pit
strung up with twine to
support their wandering way.
A weather-worn board we
knew to avoid covered the pit.
We poked around the
flowers and played in the dirt.
They’ve all left.
We’re someplace else
and await the sprouting of two green wings
from pots of dirt
Linked to the Tuesday Platform, why do we travel? And Poets United everybody has a heartache.
Happy 4th of July to those of you here, in the States.
from pots of dirt
Linked to the Tuesday Platform, why do we travel? And Poets United everybody has a heartache.
Happy 4th of July to those of you here, in the States.