Compass

Steadily, So

The low grey sky slides steadily, so,
still air beneath. Tree tops hardly 'Hi!',
stir growing tips, gently as to a baby.
Queen spider in prime web-site's becalmed;
perhaps on minute flies she can click by.
From raspberry and apple leaves, under loaded bough,
the chlorophyll is slowly being drained
and silence all the garden birds has charmed.

I sit and make these observations tell
how an inner eye may sketch a scene
pretty news-free as a second skin -
no 'out damned spot' nor histrionic dream,
nor backward glance at what's been lost within,
though some doors down the chained dogs must yell.

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