Tuesday, April 7, 2015

constellations (for zane grey)

each morning
from the head of the bed
you look out the window
toward the gardens
and the woods to the east
ears pricked forward with interest
the tip of your black nose
gently touching the glass
leaving a small, flattened smudge
amongst the smudges left behind
on past mornings
each a record of a squirrel, or bird, or deer sighting
of thoughts and moods
intentions and desires
coalescing into constellations of nose prints on the glass
and which i know
must
as i catch a glimpse now and then
beaming from bright brown eyes
mirror the constellations of a swirling universe
hidden within that luxurious-fur-coat-being