Poem 20150615

the walk is quick
clouds have rolled in
from the south
sunset’s reverse june gloom
chilling the breeze

the dog doesn’t seem
to care
and he pulls on the leash
eager to sniff
and leave his mark

halfway home, the sun
manages to find his way
out from behind a cloud
a little warmth
enough to soak through
the shirt
and into the skin
but not into the bones

the sun is a white disc
descending and nothing more
nothing oracular
no prophecies
to lean an ear toward
straining to make out
a blind girl’s words