Like crumpled sheets, in connubial bliss,
We're reluctant to leave our cozy bed
To meet the hazy morning, skies like lead.
I wrap my arms around you for a kiss.

Magic, let us go now, you and I,
For our morning walk around the block.
Dreary haze illuminates the sky,
And life once more begins to serve the clock.

Modern man: I drive past fields of green
and brown and rank manure. I race,
Encased in plastic, glass and steel,
As if traversing interstellar space.

The robins peck for insects in the leaves,
While dinner-smells waft from neighbor's windows,
Sitting on my porch, I read--at ease,
Listening in the day's declining glow.

Christopher Brooks, March 2004

Note: Magic is the name of my dog.