Three wisps of clouds travel the hazy heavens.
The dome of the sky containing the cool of the day
for a bit longer this morning.
The sparrow has left the nest for his rounds.
The mouse is off on some errand.
This voyeurism is made under shade,
on a porch,
in a sorta comfy chair.
The suburban wildlife is wandering,
as the derelict house stands here.
Slowly sinking; slowly yellow to greening.
The cedar leans to threaten with inevitability
Of a cleansing crash from a supersubstantial sabine.
There is a night shade to this moment.
Crickets keep their evening routine within shadows.
The coolness of the day dismissive of the intruding sun.
Three wisps.
The dome of creation containing all that can be.
The cedar portending all that will be.
And I, in an alley, flaccidly placidly watching.
