Dog is lagging yet
clear skies pale green leaves urge me
to linger longer.
Long walk in sunshine
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Dog is lagging yet
clear skies pale green leaves urge me
to linger longer.
Who will you be, and
from where? What will have brought you
here – mere chance or choice?
He tours in a case
like an aged Ken, “mint in box”
they’d say on eBay.
Rake leaves left over
from fall. Clean porch furniture.
Spring into action.
All around it, the
town is dead. Pity the poor
taken investors.
A romantic name
for a seagull poop splashed walk
among spray and rocks.
A schoolteacher in
a barrel did what no man
could – lived to tell it.
Where river meets lake
we stand as Toronto gleams
across the waters.
Yet I sit up wide
awake in this country inn,
jumping at each creak.
Our waitress admits
the town has its share of ghosts.
We sleep with lights on.