House Dog in the Sun

Hanging curtains of silver ghost
heavy in the morning light above
my writing desk
my own personal cloud cover
a growing season comes

greasy fingers tilling fields
doing the Lord's work
immigrant day laborers pulling at
the greying hatch
in my beard
     of my beard
          is my beard

tarot reader's wreath of water cups
and a ketchup bottle
     of a ketchup bottle
witness the blanket slipping
slowly over my brain

warm square of sunlight crawling
across the carpet
inviting a naked curl to
follow its midmorning path
like a house dog.

TA