Drips

The rain
Drips from
The pine bows
Green beneath grey
Like my eyes and hair
But I am not sad but happy
Here in the East Texas piney woods
Just me a million pines and about
A billion mosquitoes who sing to
Me at dusk but are always no
Where to be found in the
Morning as I listen to
Each bird’s song a
Series of notes to
Count as the
Light grows
Brighter in
My room
I see in
The next
Two Modigliani
Sisters smiling holding
A Miro style pup one ear floating.