Giggles

The clock cascades

into the ether

of a spent day,

.

the bed is comforting,

as sheets enwrap us

in our princess Zelda blanket.

.

We collide

.

in giggles,

Aedric dogs,

Rebecca Zamolo.

.

When the sun sets

on the Oregon Cascades,

during these sacred hours

we burn a little less.

.

As the night

takes us, we descend

into the magic

of pet filled sleep.

.

I keep promising,

one day daughter,

.

the days won't burn

so hot.

.

Your nights won't come

so soon.

.

In the long moments

of the La Pine summer,

hot tundra, red tinted,

.

hued of tarnished landscapes,

our critters wouldn’t work

their magic so hard.

.

Perhaps tomorrow,

will leave us less copper toned,

with the hardness

of battles fought,

.

liberating us from attrition

of past lives stranded

on shores distanced from dead end

roads we now call home.

.

Perhaps these lazy

high desert days will gift

a love that doesn’t smoke

so hot, or leave us

.

breathing a little less

than before,

.

when tomorrow

comes.