Monday, August 9, 2010

Time Off

The air inhales
the tender pulsing
of the birds.

They leave the sky
and carve the dirt,
digging into the place
where the sprinkler leaks.

The steaming, invisible air
has taken the lips from dew's child
and is breathing upon an apple leaf.

I can hear the brittle voice
of the curled tree
from the cleft of its shadow
where the cat's listless tongue hangs loose.

Time has ticked the water off,
to keep it safe
until the sun squeezes its last harvest
and falls off the edge.

1 comment:

  1. Martie this is lovely. I love the image of the birds carving the dirt. Only you!