Rabbits gone

 two days without seeing either one of the big ones, or our Little.

aware there is definitely less movement outsider  our wondows. 

we look at the appropriate hour.

 missing  small bunny she called Little was obvious.

daily for five months we had watched it chew clover, play, sleep and grow.

went from lying on the lawn 

in one of the same spots every day

around 7 p.m.

to gone.

Season slipped by

 hardly aware of how easily the season slipped by.

we're enjoying summer thinking where to go because this is

finally into the heat of the season, then it rolls into fall.

just feeling it before the colors or coolness come bout

but no doubt; the change is in the air.

iconic

 The word iconic has been 

discovered this year.

Cover it up.

Give it a rest.

i have an island

 

i have an island in my room

i keep it in my bed

it's there i sun and walk on sand

and swim inside my head

piano tuned

 said as if done.

the man's on the run

heading this way.

will see how it goes.

holy mackerel, don't need anything

but a pleasant time.

what i want, what i wish

row the boat.  catch a fish.

simplicity elasticity, musical notes in captivity

here this poem ends ... explicitly 

now tune the piano?

and the man quickly did.

when she asked me

 

when she asked me to turn

off the sprinklers in twenty minutes

i nodded and  noticed the kitchen clock

and then the one in the living room.

they were ten minutes apart.

i began to tell her and she said

“Oh, jack” in that tone, you know which one.

“This is not science.”

“go make a clock then” is what i thought

but didn’t say,

then forgot where i was going with this

so i returned to the spot where i thought it

ever do that?

it usually works  -  to capture forgotten thoughts

return to the spot where you thought it.

this time it didn’t work.

looking out the kitchen window

there on the back of a chair

a squirrel sat intensely

looking in at me.

i had a plan where i was going with this

but  now, before i forget again,

i'd better go out

and turn off the sprinklers.

The long shot of the morning sun

 i remember the long shot of the morning sun, first thing, at the crack of dawn.

 how it hit the kitchen wall.

that's  how i learned where east was

 and that the sun moved a little every day cause i made a small mark on the wall with a pencil where the sun first hit.

and the weeks became seasons and changed where i marked on the wall. 

Oh, the color of the sun and the wall. 

i'd mark small so my mother wouldn't see it.

F in space

woke with a tone in my head,
checked on the piano, it was an F.

later in the day i remembered the F.
next day, again i duplicated the F.

then a train went by:
what do you know, the mournful tone was? an F.

now i am waiting another F'n train.