Dogs On An Old Sunday

I was walking a dirt lot
to find my future muse,
a bag of wild in my pocket.

Dogs, like us, roamed around without care.
Locks below waist wasted over there.
Swear I’d never seen so many fingers in the air
and we hadn’t even left the ground.

How do you remember the ice in the ocean?
How do you remember that call?
How do you remember the orchestra’s movement?
Buoyant? Was there really no room? At all?

I let me get confused when I think about you,
so I think about a movie and I hum myself a song.
Or I go back to a show
where I know I can’t go wrong.

I was climbing the south ramp
with sunshine, you, smiles, and
a bag of fuel for our rocket.

Dogs, that night, rode roller coaster’s err.
Smiled cross eyed at a camera’s stare.
Swear they knew they’d see distance get pared
so they never worried about miles.