At dusk, when I closed my eyes, I saw the last flutter of white wings as a hawk tore her to pieces. "It was a bad moment but she made eye contact." At night, beneath chalky stars and wind sounds, some peace. The aroma of lilac everywhere now which I find it oddly sickening, though I love how the blooms look. You hope against hope for safe return.
Over the fence, bored horses bow and nod. The neighbor's dogs visit all afternoon. "Is that your rooster?" While clouds race overhead. When I woke I thought I heard rain but it was one of the cats, purring. C asks over coffee: what did you dream? "I don't remember." Because at one point you were cheering somebody on.
Maybe the low swoop of robins as the sun rises in spring.
Oh, and the neighbor's house never looked that bad. Or did it? You think you're paying attention but suddenly it's Sunday and seven years have passed. We ate asparagus dripping with olive oil, glass after glass of merlot and still. In some settings, garlic is the same color as a boiled bone. Which does not diminish my appetite.
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