Monday, March 26, 2007

Leaves of Green

Every night I tramp out to the dog pen.
My two dogs, when they see me,
Tense up with exuberant impatience-
Tails stiff, eyes fixed.

When I pry open the old hinge
(Taken from my grandfather's gate)
They erupt, jumping and whining
For the styrofoam plates.

Max, the Newfoundland,
Won't eat while I'm close.
So I walk over to the plastic chair
Beneath a tree and watch him
Watch me until he's satisfied
That's where I'll be.

It's quiet- the dogs,
Their instincts engaged,
Shuffle the food silently
Only pausing to take
Quick and gasping breaths.

Above me is a light
That illuminates the leaves
Now just growing.

There is no greener green
Than this. The light strikes
From above, and I look from below
In wonder at every shade
Of green ever placed upon the earth.

Jades, emeralds- jewels they are
Never to be set as a stone
But inscribed perfectly
For me to hold
In a halogen ring
Stored safely away
Against the velvet lining
Of a dark night sky
And a greedy mind.

Then, Dakota, my lab mix,
Having finished his meal,
Pulls me from my reverie
And reminds me of more
Pressing matters- mainly,
Dog treats and some
Well-deserved attention.

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