“. . . you’re my one desire.
Everlovin’, set my soul on fire.
. . . I’ll be lovin’ you.”
— Buddy Holly
Naturally, when the winds turn around
And aim down
From the northwest, he does his best
With extra sheets and blankets.
His dog’s long been too old to make
The leap up to the bed. She wakes
After he does now, stretches slowly, stiff-
Legs-it down the stairs.
If, he thinks, only if.
And later, when he steadies
The last plank he needs
To arch the koi pond, bridging
From lawn to rock garden,
He’s aware of that small curve of air
Hurled over and framed between
What once was maple tree
And what is silver water
Kissed by the ghostly lips of furtive fish
That see him, threat but also god,
Shadowed in front of the sun, up there,
Beside the dog.
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