The heat finally thins out this time of year.
Acres of wilted sunflowers surround my small home.
A rocking chair sits patiently with a warm blanket,
a cup of hot green tea on an old crate, that was placed
gently on the ancient white wooden porch, poorly painted.
A sunny day, soon to be dark, partly cloudy.
Back and forth the rocking chair rocks as the creaking
rings in my ears. A repetitive tune. Octaves.
After little sips, vultures had taken over the space
that lies between the white porch and the wilted flowers.
Pieces of an innocent rabbit, scattered all
over the yellow grass among the cunning birds.
The brain of the rabbit was the first to be devoured,
followed by the heart, and then the kidneys.
After the last supper, the subtle wind leisurely dies.