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under constellations

the hens choose

their boxes

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a corner of

the green towel touching

the blue towel

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we’re not sure

why the potted plant

is swaying

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fires at dusk

the doves bark

like a dog

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slowly sinking

the pill leaves

a blue trail

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you share your

panties with me while

you paint the trim

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angry hens on

the roof of the latched

coop at dusk

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the moth and

the gnat jockey for

the brighter bulb

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Scarlatti

keeps the raccoons

in the blackberry hedge

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