Sunday, Day 11, County Park Road
From this porch chair
the empty sky
goes out in the quiet of 1000 miles in every direction.
Not one car
comes down the road for an hour
even though
the ordinary Sunday shuffle of supplicants
has traveled from church to brunch,
any exodus but errands put on hold.
A father holding his daughter’s hand
walks past and waves his free hand hello.
Birds rise up from the winter-ruined garden
to feed and scatter at air-borne shadows.
The dogs have found their afternoon sunspots
and stretch out unsensing anything coming.
There is nothing easier than forgetting
what has never happened
to your body.
