As she counted off her medical history one
swollen finger at a time, I saw that feral cat
still self-conscious enough to clean
herself with her tongue. There are always
more cats & daylight doesn’t dim fireworks.
I hear them calling me, the sun making
an apprentice of the moon but still chasing
the dark from my eyes a few minutes longer. I find
comfort with the blanket over my ears
— I can still hear the bangs as I fall asleep.
I realized last night I face West when I lay
drifting to sleep. There must be something healing
in following the sun — she hasn’t mentioned
maladies since I sought that haven & I think
about cats as I shower for the journey.
Somewhere light plays piano in the background
of that scene, the one that so often
repeats itself. You know the one
I mean — it starts with the sun embarking
on its customary routine, dancing to a slow tune
through the sky. We feel emboldened to move
with mirrored steps at the rhythm
we choose, back and forth, as
time arcs above us in brilliant currents
of arrows sharpened by the blitzing wind
only to fall below the horizon. And still the familiar
scene continues into the dark as we
share a stage emblazoned
in the afterglow of another imperfect day
made idyllic by blissful notes we always hit as one.
The lyrical sun meets the day hopefully,
a low trill softly rising like the hum of footsteps
falling on the hillside, bringing goodwill
to those who listen. That subtle, haunting
sound warbles in the ears of humanity,
perched above us but inviting fellowship.
There’s a lesson here, I think — the light
recedes and returns (a tide for the whole
planet not just the flustered oceans)
permitting the moon to hold luminescence
until it illustriously trumpets its return —
an example of civility for deaf ears.
Are we more moon than jelly fish?
Do we hold a mirror to the light, feigning
a warmth we have not within us? Or can we glow
from within, lighting a course for people
to accompany us as we find the chords
to harmonize with the orbiting haloes
circling us in a cosmic chorus?
The mouse crept beneath a window,
hushed footfalls ringing with regrets –
cheese (oddly placed) left untouched,
cats (strangely absent) go unseen,
cold mists (often intoxicating) left outside.
The moon acts traitor to the day,
exiling sun pillars to memories,
its cryptic desire for dark
in a world teeming with low-lying rodents
(best left unnoticed) puzzles the thoughtful.
We chose the sun (tickling our necks)
as we face another day living
in the audacious light where yesterdays
and we get another chance
between cheese or cats or cold mists
or creeping in the night
clamoring for the sun.