flying
through the sunset . . .
dad’s empty beer can
almost
full, the moon
draped with a thin cloud
. . . no privacy from the poets
the
cool morning breeze
waving
the squirrel's tail
busy
morning—
coffee splotches
reveal his path
the
slow drip
of our coffee—
we watch the drizzle
a
baseball glove
left on the little league field—
spring deepens
after
prayer
still praying over our meal . . .
the fly
clothed
in leaves . . .
my father's dog missing
a tooth
last
day of february—
the black cat
holds up traffic
mudflats
painted over—
scarlet ibises
february
sun—
a pink house
brighter pink
tailless
lizard . . .
i wonder who got
the biggest scare?
a
jacket sleeve
waves in the doorway
almost spring
dead
moth
at the edge of the drain
winter still
Copyright © 2006 by Dustin Neal.
