Is not a guerrilla war

Wind still moves branches
Decorating the  sunset
Fuzzy spaces gleam

But darkness softly
Blankets the weigelia.
The wrens  nest there snug

Oh, that small  wild dog
I had to take in again.
She keeps wandering.

Dogs smelly and  rough;
Short coats like mini  wild pigs
Why do they like me?

The  mock orange blooms
Truly a secret garden
I hide in the heat.

Down there is a seat
I bought it for my husband
It’s called a  love seat.

I hope this rough dog
Won’t try to sit there by me
I don’t love her.

I made a mistake
I can’t tell  cow from  bull
I blame that convent.

We averted eyes
We averted minds and hearts
We were  like Nazis.

We must perceive first
Then we might start to think  well,
Or thoughts are bullets.

Conversation
Is not a guerrilla war.
It makes us human.

First see a person;
See their face and recognise
The unspoken claims.

I see lighted eyes
Fine lips that jut out slightly
Ready to  drink words.

He might listen too
He that has ears to hear
Will reap  a harvest