Kings Highway
       

The sky tonight
is inappropriate. No,

that's not right. I am
not fit for any sky tonight.

That's better. Though
the gloaming west hawks

its wares through my trees,
they seem not my trees

nor my gloaming. Not at all.
I am a renter. No, an intruder

upon the time and place of
my dogs. I feel that I can say

my dogs, as they would not
have come together, though

brother and sister, had I not
spoken for them in an instant.

They leap on their leashes
at each other, as if their joy

at being here was unrestrained.
I do love them, being here

with my wife under this sky
none of us, even you, deserves.

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Copyright © 2012 Robert W. Hill All rights reserved
from Birmingham Poetry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission