The small dog got
her hackles up
before the owl
lit on the roof
a small soft sound
like a slide of dirt
outside in the open
stretch of night
its compatriot
hoo-ed and we
argued over stars
this is arcturus
or is it mars?
I was wrong;
dry air, water in my eyes,
the largesse of sky
cradled in these
dry grass hills–
the town, the hour,
everything stilled,
even the tumult
of an anxious heart
beneath a split moon
hung over the Okanogan
OPTIONAL POETRY 
just berceuse…of the small dog, her hackles, arcturus and largesse. that’s why i like this
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the small dog approves 🙂
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Beautiful.
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Thank you!
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