The Lone Cat

behind the blinds, we watch stripes of
empty walls, yellow-wedding sunsets, 
watercoloring paper until it frays, fades
against shaky hands, weathered blisters

I do not think you will learn of sacrifice

Heaven
slowly passes here,
yet I am possessed
of dauntless courage
I satisfy the absence of
no friend
with the enthusiasm of
disappointment
To sustain myself, I commit to paper for the communication
I desire

Lonely wanderer, face sallowesque underneath the bareness of your hood.
From mind to hands to fingers to feet, you are cold,
an icy rottenness unable to recover, even under the influence 

The heroines in Burnett and Montgomery
wear drab, strange clothes, have flaming
hair, soulmates, jewels in their ears,
and sometimes almost die.
A wild Mariposa draws girls like these
to the edge of a sea-cliff

gentle hope juts out -- softly --

like the sweet stalks of lilies that grow along the mountain edge, 

who dip slowly to the breeze, succumbing with grace --

like drops of water (plink! plink!) eroding granite’s surface