In the quickening twilight that gilds the lake
water, the trail curves along the shore,
my old lab toddling in my shade,
I sleepwalking for a time and then
consciousness snaps its fingers
and the plainsong of crickets thrums
against my ear bone,
against each blade of mustard grass,
each dark bending Manzanita.
An ancient music made with teeth
on wings opening and closing
like sails, the same preening concert
that pierced the ears of
old tyrannosaurs
as they bedded down
for the night.
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