hit with sun

everything is people kevin says
about zambia
for instance: driving away from where he was parked
alongside a road and someone in an orange vest
yelling after him for money
because that person was the parking meter
in charge of those four parking spots
the glimmer of the theater-fake-snow quality
of the real snow
flake by flake
drifting about in the air
as seen in the daylight/brightlight sun
juniper reading aloud
the pale green pants
with nobody inside them
(aka: what was i scared of)
by dr. seuss
said, “I do not fear those pants
With nobody inside them.”
I said, and said, and said those words.
I said them. But I lied them.
how i don’t say a thing
about noa’s face band-aid
but i do say something
about her hat with double pom pons
falling asleep on the orange couch
in front of the windows that frame the view
of sun-glowed gold stubbled corn,
soothed by the sounds of juniper’s sleepbreathing
while the birds feast at the feeder
(chickadees and downy woodpeckers)
the almost iridescent glow
(hit with sun)
of the underside of hawk
circling against powderblue sky
we step out to watch the supermoon
(they’re all super)
just shining there
huge and full in the pre-dusk
while a cloud strip
gives the moon a mustache, a shroud, a beard
in the candlelight/moonlight combo
yes, this is contentment