This old thing, all hail the
White sun
Level to us
This dog. Has an aura of hose water,
backyard, inscribing the base of the
back door
Covers a patch of grass
with her adequate coat barely
grasping its color. I’m so
all knowing and dutifully heartstruck
Anytime the sun presents, so dirt forgets
That it used to feed
a skirt of lanky green harp strings
mummified crickets to the thirsty seed
haven’t uttered partial sounds
but sit cross-legged, and stare up at me
Sadie Braun was born and raised in Chicago, IL, USA. Her poems are concatenated dream scenes you are likely awake for. www.instagram.com/sadielbraun