each morning
short arms in an old house coat sweep the walkway back and forth metronoming
flawlessly
towards the house she leans the broom by the front door click she’s gone as one acorn sprouts
from a crack in the sidewalk
I drain the pool’s water with a pump that must be unplugged before it sucks air at the same time shedding lots of slippery ideas to hopefully leave a good one then it’s critical when filling the pool
it’s a dog nap afternoon but I’ll keep my eyes open for awhile follow thoughts that drag through windless leaves everything heat-stilled how can there be poetry without movement no clouds in a blue sk