On the last day,

sun heat, spring fragrance

will hit our faces,

I’m  safe in my studio

(Maybe)

and absently,

you’re watching

police shows,

a settlement of 30 years

maybe.

 

Friends will phone

and you’re talk of gold,

I’ll dispense life 

in small doses

since I’ve had mine

since I’ve used mine.

 

Thank  you for the reddish autumn

those blackbirds perching

and singing,

voices as they were,

my daughter bewildered by them

(at her age not now)

Now she has her own.

 

Last night

a coyote

left prints in tranquil curves,

looked for a moment,

went his way.

 

Dave

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