This Evening Sky

The birds aren't leaving. They are flirting,
swooping in grandiose dives and swirls, circling
and harassing one another. They are nesting,

they are love-making. And in all
that grandiosity, my Molly, my bird-
dog, red-baby Irish setter Molly,
takes wingless, full-throttle flight

herself across the backyard, never
getting close to trapping one, much less
savoring the feast of the forbidden. She stops

when one lights in the magnolia, knowing
what she savors is far from her reach.
I relinquish my hold on the leash, know
she's perplexed and not apt to run from me.

We stand there, two solitary animals, thinking
about the one that got away, wondering
about the ones that stay. I say this with certainty

as she is no ordinary dog. Today, she pissed
on my comforter--her hallelujah--her right
to be here. Her this bed is the forbidden
song. She spent some time outside after that,

tethered to her tie-out, her red fur gleaming
in the early April light. We all want to own
something--some spot, some place we can claim

as our own, a place reserved for others that our flesh
and bone never get to inhabit, an evening sunset
we know others have as much right to witness.
And all the while, birds flutter above and wing

themselves relentlessly into a blinding blue.