April 2024
Doug Brown
dwbrown49@gmail.com
Bio Note: Winter has begun releasing it's grip on the south. Jonquil's yellow bells are out, robins are gathering in flocks heading north. It isn't as cold. The poem below was written, or rather, final drafts (I suspect) were written during this seasonal transition. I am a retired firefighter.

Late Afternoon

A subtle light
Splashed this west room unbound
Across the poem’s draft a feral
Canary’s day song gliding line to line
Illuminating this arc and that dot.
Silent hand in day’s hand
Ebb toward eventide.
Bells sound the angelus; night floods
Dimming evening’s buttered sky.
A dog sprints along the upper pasture
Driving sheep toward the paddock.
The separated, the distracted
Yield to the dog’s orbiting push and yip.
Oxen and farmers take their leave
Dragging the harrowed fields and
Rest.
Furrows will be opened and receive
Potato eyes and words laid line by line.
Sea gulls circle the plow’s opening feast.

©2024 Doug Brown
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