Jasper moves a piece of hay around in his mouth and says at last, "well, are there good reasons to postpone joy?"
Rain showers. Feed buckets.
Apples falling all night.
We laughed on the blanket, remembering making love in Vermont all those years ago, but then around midnight we did make love, quiet and intense, and after lay under the Perseids naked and happy, breathless and warm together, as if this were the point all along.
What your mother notices about you on the anniversary of your father's death. Sheep kicking the sides of the trailer, bawling and angry with what's going on.
How the old horse - blind in one eye now - follows the other horse around the pasture. Leaves fall in a sudden wind, and briefly you are happier than you ever thought possible.
Interior lullabies. Psychological reckonings.
Twelve disciples. Thirteen days in November. Fourteen more trips around the sun.
Faraway breezes stirring trees you can't identify without binoculars. Clouds sink through the dusk, swallowed by green hills.
Be vulpine, secretive, adventurous. Be my baby tonight.
Torn. Pepper burgers at the neighbors, the scent making you hungrier than you can say.