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This is a poem written during our "sabbatical" in southern Oregon many years ago.

Oblivious Me

The blind sun breaks sharply over
the black hill—
the moon pales.
The wet symmetrical pines
wait glistening.
The cat scares up a
flutter of jays.
A rooster crows,
a truck rolls by,
someone goes to work.
Oblivious me sleeps on,
troubling some obscure dream.

She wakes,
wakes again,
mumbles off to the bathroom.
Pulls on her socks,
goes off and starts a fire;
ponders out the window
over breakfast.
I sleep on,
blankly now.

Coffee gurgles to the pot;
she reads,
the cat stalks lizards
in the bushes,
the neighbor chops his wood.
I wake,

and go
on about the day:
blank looks,
deep books,
scattered conversation.
The demon god keeps
me warm throughout the day
with his dark fire.

The cat sleeps quaintly
in the chair,
the sun slinks off,
a truck rolls by,
she goes to bed.
At the cluttered desk
oblivious me
troubles over some
obscure dream.

Tomfoolery33 9 May 11
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Oblivion was a way of coping with the mundane?

No, not at all. I was just so absorbed in reading and writing at the time, that I would spend days in my head. But then I would attend to the beauty all around.

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Posted by AllamandaNot in the current meaning of 'dog-whistle' but I think people will like this poem.

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