by Andrew Gjefle

The mountains are making colors
for to chase the bickering southbound geese.
Fathers below joke loudly while they
clean their barbecues. In the park,
soccer teams leave
and couples arrive, looking for
an open bench.

Owls in the pine trees
are just waking up.

I swing my legs, sitting
on an old split-rail fence that sags
under my weight as I watch an old lady
run a stop sign. The breeze
smells like sage.
Solomon said there’s nothing new…I say
he must not have seen enough sunsets.

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