Walking The Dog

An evening’s repose

Photo by the author

I walk the dog around the block,
in the smoky twilight
of evening’s dusky melancholy.

Amid the lawns, we hear the clatter
of dishes through an open window,
and spy a face behind a screen
as it disappears back to inside places.

The only sound
is the click-click
of my dog’s nails against the cement
as her urgent body flits
this way
and that
intent on smells
and dirt
and droppings.
Her nose pressing against blades of grass
and thick stems of weeds.
Together we swim in the hum of day as it
settles into the cracks between.

A lone crow cracks an angry caw
and flaps away on stiff feathers of shiny black
leaving one of us
to long for
wings.