Late Roses

Pink blossoms in July,
soft petals aside wrinkled
blooms on the same stem.
Your orange dog steps carefully
through my garden, paws
light, one raised, nose twitching.
Inside, cats keep a wary distance.
Our animals mingle—
no one eats.
High sun and cotton clouds,
a gentle breeze, as if
May came after the fireworks.
More bemusement as a
soft breath of air
causes us to stir,
to rise from our sleep.