Gift

There is a lonely
labradoodleless tennis ball
in the yard.

The river is high--
a fat leather whip
to the inner thigh

of the valley.

"A wild dog is eroding the banks."

The only
movement is bone white.

"Please keep dogs out of my yard."

An effort to grab
ahold of something.

The steam from the noses
of cars as the drivers
prepare their gift returns.

And as I drive away
from a day's work,
I notice that tennis balls appear

larger than they are.