And once the hours
Walking beside
The creek
Are complete,
I can read to you,
marquez
or dostoyevsky
In a fine light
I don’t care.
Then
can you read
to me
the little prince
in our winged chairs.
Stopping, not from
weariness or
boredom.
Except, better to
tend
the vines of
queen elizabeth,
tomorrow,
for needing
the quiet
rest of bed.
At another time
offering to
a mother,
a child,
the hope
someday, of
serenity’s nest.
And like you,
Saturday, the
night also’s
my
favorite as a
rain about us,
meaningful
and private
saying
we can be
absorbed
in safety, for all
danger is bowed
in place,
with schemes
confused until the
shielding rain
is done, unmindful,
in its soft
cleansing.

RLB 09-10-2022