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Thus cloistered, I grow pensive. What shall I think of next?
Would thinking of the past or future render me less vexed?
My wild garden beckons. The dogs cavort and bicker.
Hummingbird wings vibrate. The swallowtails all flicker
here and there between the flowers each side of the path.
The small dog rolls and scratches. Perhaps he needs a bath.
As I inflict myself upon this wild abandoned scene,
will I disturb them here with my laptop and magazine?
If I lie very still they will barely know I’m here.
The dogs will settle all too soon and shift to lower gear.
Yesterday soon vanishes. Tomorrow goes unplanned.
Only the present holds me. Past and future go unmanned.