Pink cloudbrush, razor moon, Venus
runs swiftly ahead, soon to fade
in the great bulb of a summer day:
aligned by simple mechanics, some say —

I say, aligned by the belly of a black dog
thrashing in dew grass beneath my scratch.
Aligned, I say, by the brief delay born
of joy and its red lolled tongue.

Image: Trevor McGowan on Unsplash

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