Up The Bell

On the First Anniversary of My Cat's Demise

Moving silently from screen to screen I
half-listen for human voices
expecting to hear none.
The music rarely plays now, just
the rain, tapping on my roof.

This time last year I lay for days
with my old cat, waiting
for his last breath. When it came I
held his thin bones tight
and whispered him home.
What's left is in the urn.

He wasn't one to sit at
the window. He found it troubling,
unless sun shone on the table
and made it warm.
I feel the same.

Sacred Cow

A Mazing

(paper collage)