WHO KEEPS WEATHERVANES ANYMORE?
David M. DeLeon
One time in twenty the dice fall flat,
the doggy nabs the rabbit in his sleep, the
weathervane squeaks a north-northwest
and it’s a good wind, it’s a sound
and valid wind, with you in it, one time
in twenty, and all of everything else
makes numbers on hands waving, waving
hello, how are you? The doggy wakes up, older,
now he’s older, and on his tongue is something sweet
like blood, and he blinks into a day.
fiction poetry "fact" photography