I fall asleep with the windows open,
dogs barking and no people,
just hazy light, humid and broken.
Tolls float over the lake from the steeple.
Awake, dogs still barking and still no people,
the lake is white grey through old glass,
uncounted tolls still ring from the steeple.
The white dog eyes me from the grass,
the light shifts, goes blue as old glass.
What good can come from this attention?
Now the brown dog, the same patch of grass
The evening’s slow ascension.
The dogs watch the lake, I lose their attention.
All these images perfect and inadequate.
The evening’s failing light held in suspension.
Disoriented by green, I can only wait.
Everything lost, imperfect, perfectly adequate.
Like that earlier hazy light, humid, unbroken.
The disoriented afternoon returns while I wait—
I fall asleep with the windows open.
Sara Judy is a PhD student in English and an MFA student in poetry at the University of Notre Dame, where she studies 20th and 21st century poetry and poetics.