First True Love

We keep the windows open
and a breeze runs in and out of the home.
You can hear the sound of
crickets, birds, water dripping onto stones.
A white summer moon sits in the night sky.
In another room,
an old record spins on the player.

Every so often, I can hear the rotating hiss
from the sprinklers outside
as I think of my first true love,
wherever she may be,
but not in this country town,
as one dog howls,
then another,
then another. . .