Upon a rock,
or in the bare middle
of the trail or asphalt,
I make one more claim
on everything I see.
I need no deed
when you’re asleep
or awake, I own
your dreams, always
skulking at the edge
of the picture frame
in your living room—
or just outside
marking your doorstep
as part of the circle
I keep clean. I go where I want
and damn-sure don’t need
a permit to sing.
drycrikjournal 