2
The old cat showed signs the night before
stumbling in and out of existence
reaching for a final touch.
3
I made a casket of his little
traveling cage — comfortably patted
with his favorite sheet and toys —
a bit of catnip — made ready like a great
Mau of the River Nile.
4
The old bridge reminds me of something
long dead. Its dark underbelly — bulging dirt floors —
the occasional bottles of Colt 45 lying beside themselves.
Predial florae — empty of import
the wind sometimes caresses
your translucence with
last season’s maple leaves —
gesturing solidarity.