Perhaps
an
eclipse
lunar or
a
pause at the end of the day
rare
and sensuous
left
to its own affairs
evokes
solitude or
cantos
to April sunshine
even
if rain first
never
mind
the
scotch broom blooming too early in
Spring
under
Northwest
skies
ever
so close
to
the mountain while
birds
chirp after rain
year
of
the
rooster (he thinks)
holding
the weight of the world
evenly
in his ponderous chin.
So
it’s Thursday they muse &
eventually
awaken to the possibility of
a
sunset or waking dream of Spring by the large sacred mountain.
7:25P
– 4.7.05