Summer Day into Night
               Thomas Lipschultz 9/18/00, 12/9/00
                                
                       I empty the leash
                   and smile as he runs off,
                    here, on a typical day,
            barking, running, playing with friends,
                  chasing tails around trees,
             whose tails and whose trees forgotten.
                 He returns, but I am hesitant.
               He's settled, so I fill it again,
                  I plan to take him home, but
                                
                    holding the leash tight,
                             I sit
                          by the lake
                    on an olive green bench
                  and watch the swans swim by.
                                
       My heart rate slows, my breathing is less urgent,
            my eyes open to a different light of day
                 and I've let go of the leash,
                   but he, curled at my side,
                         doesn't care.
                          So I remain,
                  I watch the dual suns ahead,
                 one half-sunk and one echoed,
                   as they shrink from circle
                            to oval
                          to snow pea
                            to line
                          to nothing.
                                
                   He wakes and looks at me,
               but neither of us wants to go home
                           as we sit
                          by the lake
                    on an olive green bench
                  and watch the swans swim by.