Here I can swim or fly

Or we can just settle into the grass

Leave the flying to the hawks

Gliding low in formation, lit by a light from below

I can feel the wind from their wings

Now in the silver grey shadows

I can wake. And tell you. For memory

lies in the telling. Better to stay in the now,

however distant it is

from waking. Cats lined up tail to head

against our house wall. Larger than house cats,

smaller than snow lions

Their eyes widen, their teeth gleam

As I raise my bamboo pole

they fall back to the sleep we wake from,

held, each in the other’s arms.

Deep in the night, the whistling hawks,

still, in their nested calm

August 17, 2015


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