Stillness by Lisa Zaran

Beyond the dusty glass door, past the paw prints,
a trickle wren is pacing, pacing, hopping, still,
then start again.  The mesquite has overgrown
the fence and skinny limbs trickle into my yard.
Leaves the length of thumbs waver lightly
in the breeze.  Some broken sun between them
falling from a clear sky.  Dry grass, dust, dirt,
landscape stone.  A lone lizard darts, ditches
the scene as quickly as he came into it.
The mordancy of loneliness, I gather in my
mind, more noise more laughter, cleaner windows.

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