March 29, 2015

Palm Sunday and the dog tugs at my waist,
umbilical,
to everything.
The world, the giant eye,
all-seeing.
Early morning.
A single robin, balanced
on the tallest branch, on the pinnacle,
repetitively shouting at me.
A crow, violently pecks
into the gutter, scavenging.
I don’t know how a single sparrow
is left after the predatory foraging
morning after morning.
A cat yawns, balanced on the porch ledge.
Fourteen snow geese fly overhead,
perfect line, powerful wings,
white waves undulating
on a payne’s grey arch of cloud.

Photograph of this? Impossible.
A single piece of music? Nothing comes to mind.

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