[32] Easter Saturday, Nils T. Peterson


Walking the dog
in a cathedral of an afternoon,
not gothic, roman–sky a blue dome
held up by north south east and west.
Even the distant freeway traffic
sounds hushed like the way we talk
in a place that feels sacred.

The dog, however, is as interested
in earthly things as ever. He gives
a worldly woof then me a look that says
“What is, is. No need to get poetical.”
He’s got a good case, and, yet,
it is a cathedral of an afternoon.

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