in the early evening

steady, I wait underneath
the frightened pecan tree
known to surrender its
grooved secrets as our
sky recalls the clamor
of blind emergencies.

wake me up, slices of
an afternoon snack
are dripping, filling
this vacancy and never
once parting to fall
onto shaken ground.

small town lake laughs
between walls of red cups
splintered, on the edge
of antique tabletops,
without a throbbing leg
to tempt bitter flies.

cooler, almost so still
like ears nearly fried
by the dawn’s alarm,
rogue, set, and ready
to accentuate longing
for minimized calm.

what shook their way
down tangled branches
floats along rivers
white and drained
in time for dinner,
modest and shared.

Cat No. 120 of the 500 Cats Project

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