Doves moan like
ionized lovers,
squirrels chirp
here and there.
Along weed-beds
bass go glunk.
Last night’s rain
drips from leaves;
a train lumbers north,
across the PM trestle
as I sit thinking
& crows go
about waking each other
in the gray-light-hour.
Within the year
the cabin will be gone,
replaced by new,
a process we all face.
Somewhere
in the distance
coyotes yelp,
and dogs
answer.