dogtrax

A small pond, flutters with critters; tadpole squiggles like ink on the page

Percolator blues - waiting for the coffee pot and the mug I'll use

for Algot

Geometrically designed in an unknown room; the art flowers bloom

It's a pair of hares, nestled together; a form, where babies get born

We're treasure hunting debris from the wide ocean, drawn back by low tide

Blue paints the spring sky; dotted clouds, and bird clusters return, streaking by

She's window waiting, wondering when the ground's ready for the plow and seeds

Is it boiling yet? She asks, with fret, her voice set in mad frustration

By light of the moon, we wander the woods, careful to watch our footing

Pocket hole, ellipse; the lost hour slips away a broken-seam day

for Algot (sort of)