I wrote this in 1999, a bit after Wisconsin Winter.
It is a lovesong for a cat.
And I forgot spring.
Crows caw blackfeather fight falcons atop nuded treees, amazing, the crows win. Death gone this day.
Cold with a bite but promised warm the winds, rainheavy leadengrey some mornings clouds drops to dimple remains of scruffy drifts, improvised front porch for me, plastic chairs in open garage enjoying pageant and neighborhood kid, will I pledge to support his three-hour jumprope campaign against heart disease? Yes. Why not? It is young, the world, and he will not die of ironic heart attack.
Cold gone! This day!
Open windows breeze scuffs across and Mira meows at me as I stand opposite her, screen keeping her pointeared prisoned and birds free, twittering flittering.
Knowing, yes, probably, this place where I stand will have her flesh — she is old and getting a little older with each season —
But now is green and no mourning; all morning
And now flit the butterflies, open the blossoms, buzz the hornets and redorange wing the ladybugs, and all is young here now and.
Spring as they do, and known summer and foreboded autumn and final cold winter once more, chill silence.
Then, insistent, again.
Chasing the red ball together, I dance with my love; I dance with my Mira.
Dance, dance this day.
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