that rare Sunday
where I find myself
without plans, an agenda
only an afternoon
stretching into infinity
that rare Sunday
is a glimmer
that lives in my eyes
my green wilderness
vines, creepers
peeping out of their
cautious corners
and in the silence of
that rare Sunday
I adore that you and I
are on our phones
not talking
not needing to
only filling this space
with a chuckle
reserved for dogs, cats
some ducklings and a llama
a song I just discovered
an intermittent ankle
on my arm
a new recipe
it is here
in this Sunday languor
and this meshing
of my world
within and without
that I’m yellow
