Wednesday, 6am,

Lucy brings her leash, swings it around her head,

tucks her nose in it, drapes it on her shoulder,

pulls the corner of the blanket off the bed,

picks up a running shoe, puts her foot in it,

rips the tongue from the sole

This early, busy hour

before the sun does much more than light the sky

in watermelon, before we boil water for coffee,

the dog picks up the sports bra, puts her foot

in the cup, yanks the strap until it snaps

We think to take her to the sea

where other creatures are as busy as she is,

we drag ourselves to the water kettle,

pour the hasty coffee, drive to the water’s edge,

Hear the Osprey, its uncanny sweet call

throw the ball 100 times

Louisiana farm dog sent north

rope around her torso; she will carry a scar forever

Osprey dives feet first, bursts out of the ocean, talons

turn a fish face forward mid-flight

fish gasps, dog dives, bird glides

Fish, bird, dog

This still small hour,

in this world that changes and stays the same, where

one finds eternity, one breakfast, one companionship

in the heartbeat of salt and water, sand and stone

while the light spreads copper

on the morning wave

Copper Clouds

Kathryn McQuaid

Acrylic​

- Rebecca Pugh​