Even with cancer the dog
has to be fed and the trash
has to be bundled and
put out at the curb and the
pork roast needs to be
all thawed out before it
can take the soy dressing
while the day paces itself
as it always does morning
sifting to afternoon quiet
light softening in the living room
the fan spinning the air about
the sofa filled with fabric peonies
and green gold leaves on vines
and time stilled on the wall tapestry
where a mill wheel is churning
a sleeve of blue water out
into the middle of the room
silently, always — forever