A Muzak fragment of Mozart’s Minuet
pumps from the gut of a smiling, snub-nosed owl
and repeats every fifteen seconds. It’s only seven,
but I jam the fat ends of my earplugs in
and watch green constellations pulse and wheel
across the ceiling.
……………………………. Just as I start to drift,
the baby’s cry returns me to the room,
mind blank with an infinity of thoughts.
I rock him underneath our nine-foot sky
while a dark form quarters the yard and scans for voles
that run along the redwood fence.
……………………………………………………. Come morning,
we’ll stroll through the live oak’s perforated shade
and find two woven clots of fur and bone.