Sleeping Dogs

by C. L. Killgore

 

Sleeping dogs lie

basking

in intermittent shafts of golden light

as narrow blades of unkempt grass

sway

beneath the gentle rustle of ancient trees.

Time moves differently,

slowly,

on summer days where ice melts

and beads of condensation

trickle

down a tall glass of strong, sweet tea,

and a faded blue sky,

cloudless,

achingly-bright,

stretches beyond the safe,

the comfortable places we know.