Poetry Project–Day 1
Evening 
Whip-poor-will. . . . . .whip-poor-will. . .
The sun has already descended below the valleyside,
But I sit in my mother’s lawn chair rocker
Strips of vinyl green then white supporting me
Just waiting and absorbing.
Rawww-ket. . . . .Rawww-ket. . . .
The breeze has already cooled
As it does upon dusk arrival.
Dogs lie at my feet, the scent of their rolling
In decayed flesh a memory now.
The man in white has finished his stint in the garden.
His demeanor so reminiscent. . .
His woman working by his side as they strategize
On potato yields in drought vs.plenty.
Whip-poor-will. . . . . .whip-poor-will. . .
I’ve heard they are far fewer in this country now,
Far fewer than when we came to this Valley.
They still serenade as I gaze up the hillside
Knowing that others rest listening to the song.
They belong here as do I.
I rock as the dogs breathe on my bare feet,
And the breeze rustles the branches
Above the graves.