How easy it is to raise my eyes when the windows fog over with mist.
How easy to curl up on the floor.
I have a blanket soft as spring wind, woven in a rainbow plaid.
I have a pillow made of leaves.
How easy to slip into a dream, to wander these back roads again.
I pass the white house just up the hill, nestled in pines and birch.
Again the black dogs bark. They rush out toward the road.
A woman calls them back – “Down Demon, down Bowstring!”
She smacks them hard with her naked hand.
They whimper and cringe. She glares at me as I pass.
She doesn’t speak. I want to wave, break the bad rhythm going here.
She’s been planting something in the yard. She wipes her hands
on her jeans, turns back to the house. There’s a flurry of leaves,
the ground rumbles beneath my feet. My legs have turned to sand.
The sky erupts in flame, smoke clouds spreading beyond the hills.