psyche flowers

The sun warm on my face

and arms, air cool

on the back of my neck.

“Senor,” Dylan on the stereo,

wafts out the window

backing up the birdsong,

soloing duets on this summer

morn. A lawn mower

sputters to buzz-roar-drone

as a jet sweeps overhead

on its airport approach

eclipsing the white scythe,

cloud-looking crescent moon

in the blue sky. A breeze

picks up, the sunflowers dance,

Luna wends her way over

my tablet into my lap,

rests her wet chin on my hand

and begins licking the hair

on my wrist before moving on

to her own coat, toes, and nails,

periodically touching her

damp nose to my skin,

then nuzzles her head under

my arm. She’s become

quite lovey-dovey after years

of neglect. Finally sated,

she moves to the table top

to spread out and snooze in the sun.

I wake to the harmonica riff

in “Just Like a Woman” and two

moons, yellow and full, twin

candles burning in the midnight

fur of her, then shuttering

down. We doze again

letting easy summer roll in . . .

“Forever Young,” forever here,

forever and always another

year turning back and forth

the mother and the sun.

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One Response to SOLSTICE

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