Arching its back beneath canopy of leaves,
It captures my eyes with the suppleness of silk
Just as was done by a squirrel and a dove
And fuel those dreams of an Ovidian change,
Here beneath asphalted clouds that'll cloak
Saplings in need of their sun.
Wiping my face with dog-tired paws,
I glance at the saucers of milk in my fridge
And musing on doctrines of karma and its breed
Sigh from the cells of my lobes.
