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 
    humble spark.
Rex settles on the blanket, in no hurry for the day’s treasure

     to emerge: a ham sandwich from a  passing samaritan,

     a chunk of antler found by the trail, and something for me,

     two oranges plucked from a tree.
I fill his dish with water 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 ukelele, strum a few chords, a song for bright,

     watchful Phoebe.
Content, I ruffle my loyal friend's fur, whisper in his ear;
Wrapped in moonlight, we'll sleep soundly tonight, Rex and me.