Waiting

Folly splattered every thought

   sighed and left at doorsteps –

some darkened, all grease-stained,

the detritus of breathing litters,

scratched yard dirt where chickens

  refuse to walk.

Unfortunate beauty hangs off dogwoods –

  no salvation is got and time is short

  to claim it.

We are held together by small histories –

  unkept fortunes,

  better suited for attic sales and flea

  markets with puffs of pine cone smoke chasing

  children and the hollow-eyed dog. He knows

  his is coming: when winter whelps,

  freedom does not follow.

Does it all come to staying and straining –

  holding that folly close, no regret.

Choices are chances without previews.