there are purple flowers
in a mason jar
on my kitchen table...
there is the sound of kid's voices
and the squeak of the trampoline
as they wrestle dragons,
perform acrobatics and exact
precise recon exercises involving
long whittled tree branch rifles
and gatorade grenades...
the smell of barbequed ribs drifts
in the open window
while motorcycles roar by
in the distance...
and i wait to hear your tires
on the gravel
to complete the picture,
to complete the day,
to complete me.
