Hunting Scarlet Birds
A dream of July
I was hunting
scarlet birds in a verdant forest;
each dart striking true.
Then the One
appeared
from behind a tree to my left.
Large and unafraid,
his muscular body
and curved scimitar of a beak
were taut and poised.
I pulled a chick from my vest,
fluffy and yellow,
flecked with scarlet
to lure the
large one near.
And he did come,
cocking his head
from side
to side.
I was suddenly
afraid he would
peck my eyes
and I awoke in a sweat
to the sound of
whippoorwills calling.
Scout, an old cat
A rusty iron bell
nailed to the porch wall
tolls in a hot breeze.
She loves the sun so
I sit very still
while she sleeps in my lap.
I am so still
that a lizard runs across my shoe
and neither it nor I care.
I can see that rabbit
eating my tomato plants
and a tortoise, also,
half-buried in the pine straw
escaping the heat.
This sultry day drags on and on
but I don’t want it to end
because she will pass into the darkness
before the world does.
