Night Walk in Late Summer
I walk the dog
for her evening pee.
She prances.
I lumber.
Past the park;
pools of green spotlighted
in the blackout.
Her lead
delicately taut,
we advance in stages,
sniffing our way
to that night’s
just right grassy spot.
Everywhere an aural fog.
Ceaseless chirring:
soprano maracas; piccolos.
Finally she squats, her gaze
inward to that same spot
every dog studies,
preoccupied,
till she springs up, as if renewed,
and hurries home for chow,
heedless of the shrill
stream of love calls
enveloping the darkness.
I pressed “Like”, but no…
The button did not click on.
Still aught for Hestia.