He’s waiting outside
for the dog’s output to arrive.
He’s bleary eyed
it’s three or half-five
in the AM.
The sky is a diseased yellow-grey
pragmatic and starless.
A giant pine leans over the yard intrusively.
It scatters dead brown pine needles
which block the shed’s plastic guttering.
Wind gets high –
God’s breath animates tree
Ever-so, ever-so prettily
Unprosing our scene completely
Unprosing our scene completely.