Water On Repeat

The neighbor's sprinkler, out at dusk,

sweeps its arm back and forth, a hiss

of water on the thirsty lawn.

It catches the last bit of sun.

A fine mist hangs, then settles on

the sidewalk, making dark spots that

disappear before they're gone.

Just like that.

It feels like watching something old,

something that always happens this way.

Every arc, every spray, exactly told.

And here we are, at the end of a day.