from my patio i watch
cranes and/or snow geese rehearse overhead.
lower down, sparrows
on manoeuvres, the odd chickadee.
small engine plane finds
its level up there somewhere.
it’s all one
the song, the sky
bright strata.

earthbound, i celebrate
this spring’s exuberance, building
by hand and eye a brickwork patio
big enough to lay out
the kitchen rug that covers the hole
where we cracked the linoleum stomp-dancing
one winter night, house bulging
food and drink and story and song to hasten
through the long dark; the rug now
stained with cat vomit, a thing best
scrubbed in a patio bright with autumn sun.

sometimes i dream of houses
full of rooms we don’t get around to
their potentiality, beckoning me to reach
further, in this waking house, and likewise
body mind soul and heart full of rooms yet to occupy

in my patio while sparrows volley
from grapevine to apple tree
the sun might not show today
but under clear sky or grey
there’s the rug, the work to be done
and a song, always the same One.

Image by user konevi on the mighty pixabay.com, home of gorgeous open source imagery from around the world.