seven is fine

your nap
beneath
the shady tree,
in the park
where the benches
green, on iron
feet circle
the square of
grass and elms,
was short.
but your sleep
in a curled white
bed of flowers,
with just
a teasing taste
of dream refreshes
you, makes
you call me
when you get back
to the office. yes.
seven is fine.