Dog

That dog the white tip of her tail upright like she’s painting the clouds barks insistently at some invisible thing loving the sound of her own voice. She stops abruptly and lies down in the shade. I can relate only my voice is in my head. I’m calling out to something I can’t see but only feel in the sunshine warm on my legs, the breeze teasing my hair. Silently, the purple iris give up the fight, unfist themselves, feather up into victorious blooms.