Porch-rail banisters allow ribbons of light.
Our Dalmatian snoozes, sunning herself along
the array of spindles.  Stroking her back, 
your earrings, turquoise and silver braid, 
sway as your hair filters blue sky.

Local weatherman informs us of the Real Feel –
an air of equivalence to escort increased heat.
Updated hourly, we disregard any forecast, 
have no fealty to swelter.  Do not rely on media 
advice.  We take a notion to reassess

trellises along the porch, tally our pink roses.
Allow their fragrance to lace afternoon comforts.  
As sundown arrives, the grids of straight lines 
elongate over the basking hound – lattice reheating 
her dreams of baying at a blood moon.