This entry is part 73 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses


The sun slips over
the gray pelt of a vole zipping
from one hole to another

and catches on a distant gleam
of frost-heaved flotsam,
luring me to go look.

A beer bottle at the base of a tree
rests in a cradle of leaves,
bluer than the sky.

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