A time to fall apart

roof lines of adobe huts resemble aging mule spines
streaks of rain run down their necks
tell the tail of futile work and time
lavender spikes lean like gardener’s tools
the mud pinks under a softened sun
through a monk’s doorway, a gallery owner
paces end to end with a concealed phone
a child of eight or nine
bends low to pet a sleeping dog
the dog pays little notice
to the flies that buzz his alert ear
or the boy’s attempt to wake him
he rises and tells to no one:
“dogs are so tolerant”
and leaves the courtyard with chagrin
I fall a little in love with him, the boy
the dog
the sun
the flies
the gallery owner
the ageless tail of spines

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