cheap prednisone online Morning, Valley
The sun comes in sideways,
a slow crawl over stucco walls.
I pour water for the dogs.
Charlie circles, Jadie stares me down.
In the yard, a hummingbird drills the air—
a jeweled little bastard,
impatient with the world.
Across the street, the neighbor’s chimes catch
a breeze that isn’t really there.
The valley smells of wet grass,
old coffee, and car exhaust.
It’s perfect.
No one is awake but us.
The dogs sniff the earth
like priests at confession.
Traffic hums somewhere out,
a far-off river of fools
chasing something.
Here, though—
the leash is loose,
my cup runs full,
the air is still cool enough
to forgive.
I think of poems,
of love,
of money,
of none of it.
Charlie rolls in dirt.
Jadie licks my hand
as if to say,
This is enough.
And Jesus,
maybe it is.
anesthetically Toward
The vine does not choose
the sun—
it leans
on faithful hunch.
A trail of ants
reroutes around a stone
without word,
but unanimous devotion.
Beneath trees,
roots cross like fingers
in prayer,
never having seen
what they worship.
The bird lifts
before thunder,
as if it dreamed sky’s intent.
We call it instinct,
but what if it’s listening?
Not to sound,
but to some tilt
inside the world?
Not thought.
Not self.
Only a turning
toward.
Carbonated Courtship
She ordered a soda,
said she liked
the way it fizzed—
like it had something to say
but lost its nerve halfway up the straw.
He stirred his coffee.
Said nothing.
Which, if you listened right,
was a kind of music.
The hiss in her glass
sounded like
her mother’s breath
before a sentence
that ended in
judgment.
A fly circled.
The ice melted.
Time passed
as it always does—
slowly
until it doesn’t.
He reached for her hand
not to hold it,
but to let her know
he noticed
she still shook
when the bubbles popped.
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