Alpine Leisure

Alps landscape

The alpine shepherd calls lowly —
an ursine bellow to his milky-colored charges
that single-mindedly graze, burrowing
their heads to smell new grass.

The gradual lay of the land invites
only a leisurely inclination to wander
and the air settles cool and sweet:
a mantle and disposition it has nowhere else.

So sluggishly heeding his call,
the sheep raise no more than fond tolerance
from their likewise charmed guardian.

My Favorite Hour

The warmth of three o’clock
Is hot cocoa after the steam melts
Into a white-ghost wisp
Is the sun suspended on her swing, falling
Just below the apex
Is the lingering memory of a kiss
Embraced before it grays
Recalled on the last note —
The splendor of a serenade