When sun has set and flutters not a bird,

When all is still, all sleep, feathered and furred,

It echoes in my head your last harsh word,

Tossed out with thoughtless ease, such heartache stirred,

The death of hope I wish I’d never heard.


Cat stalks the night roof

The Daily Post prompt is: Elegant


The elegance of the cat, stalking across the night roof,

Pads making no sound on the sprawling vines,

Is one with the silence I reach out to and never catch.

Between open fingers it seeps and sifts,

Clanging on the hollow ground like iron saucepans.

Flowers nod in sleep, and the blackbird stirs,

Feathers ruffled against the cat scent,

And the city hums and throbs with an irritated rhythm.

Cat pauses to listen between the red-hot threads of noise

And hears the bird heart pulsing.

But I slip and slide between planes of babble,

Falling into a boiling pit of sound thick as tar.

Is there no silence in this world of compressed humanity?

Elegance of the poised paw, the spread wing,

Parabolas of beauty, slicing the stillness.

While I struggle with the viscous blaring and glare of the crass and the futile,

Cat melts into the night.