There's a little grey tabby cat who's established our backyard as part of its territory. It drives our cats crazy, which gives them something to obsess over. Most of their poetry is about this cat right now. While the cat's small, it's large enough to set off the movement sensor on the neighbor's front porch. If I'm working at night in the dining room, here's what I get so see from time to time:
Since we're talking about night, I thought I'd drop this tiny little poem on you:
in my dream a sliding bobsled run
cloudy tourmaline bricks
a woman with me
a teacher a lover
imagine going very fast
meeting a steep mound
a smooth crystal pile rose up
we died
haunted houses, bars, fields
laughed sibilant ghost laughs
earnestness we couldn’t believe
and it wasn’t funny anymore
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