Autumn poem

+ weekly recs

i.

Greyness, patience, a solitary fall
underfoot while the dog drags behind
wanting to investigate a lamp pole,
garbage can, detritus of the city
made beautiful by smell. What does he know
that I don’t. What does he dream of
supine on the couch, slinking
between sleeping and waking worlds.
He never feels like he’s running out of time,
secured as he is to every ti…