The broom in the corner
hints at possibilities…yet
mist is lifting on the hill
as wisps of clouds slowly
unmask the sun. Wrens
chatter in the woods as
my dog patiently gazes out
the screen door. The hillside
beckons, the cool breeze
keeping the heat at bay.
Then the dog gurfs to go
out, and robins debate
the wrens, back and forth,
filling the hillside with
essential words
unknown to you and me.
Unswept and calm, the
day begins, as scruffy as
these sylvan slopes, as
steady as swallows darting
through the trees.
Gene Hyde’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in such publications as Salvation South, Appalachian Journal, San Antonio Review, The Banyan Review, Third Wednesday, Raven’s Perch, Tiny Seed Literary Journal, and elsewhere. He lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina with his partner and a scruffy little dog.
