I see it inside a frame,
fine ripples occasionally stir
a plate glass lake, placid swans
linger among the reedy edges,
a squirrel flitting past the pine
needle carcasses, cushioned sleep
for the children who lie, prone,
snubbing the sinking sun,
cheeks to crossed palms,
top of the hand pillow dreaming
atop the soft detritus, a forest mezzanine
among the sussuration of chirp and buzz.
A cloudless sky of indigo dusk
tinges the mountains to the north
hibiscus, glory of an ebbing daylight.
A blanketed trust in quietude,
sweeps my eyes closed to smell
the thick, verdant branches towering
above a summer evening, the
fullness of dawn’s sleepy arising,
like a promise sealed.