I span in a hammock

your father had hung
between the silver birches
stooping copsed guardians

imitating a graceful deference

yet the sky turned with me
and spilled me there
embarrassed a little shaky

still able to do a push up

while the family cat smirked
and a smiley dog licked the blood
from my forehead

later when no one looked

you first kissed the gravel away
then coming over the next day
the hammock was folded on the porch

under the cockatiel cage

Gyp your kelpie cross
scraped a rear leg over new stumps
but I hadn’t washed my head

life’s a bit like that

Unstill Mosaics The Book of Love, Loss, and Longing 2019