Sleeping Gypsy

(after H. Rousseau)

 

I'll rest here tonight: the ground is soft, the moon bright.
Below, lights huddle in the dark, small comfort in each 
    homely spark.
Rex settles on the blanket, in no hurry for the day’s treasure:

     a ham sandwich from a passing samaritan, a chunk of bone

    found by the trail, and something for me, two oranges

    plucked from a tree.
I fill his dish and marvel yet again at his manners, a prince

     from birth, my boon companion.
Pangs of hunger I ignore; the danger is not in wanting
    but in wanting more.
I pick up my uke, strum a few chords, a song for bright,

     watchful Phoebe.
Content, I ruffle his fur, whisper in his ear; wrapped in

     moonlight, we'll sleep soundly tonight, Rex and me.