Thursday, July 23, 2009

Camilla (a Summer Sonnet)

The sun, a stretch that makes me gaze her way.
Do cats have bones? They seem to be all form!
Soft grayness simply takes my breath away—
I think if I were “God,” they’d be the norm.

She tells me how she feels and that’s no lie.
For food, the comb, or watching squirrels play.
I have to leave her, yet I don’t know why,
But when I hold this cat, I want to stay.

Dear sweetness, time removes the things we love,
But having, holding tight lets us survive.
I always seem to lose that one gray glove—
It’s meant, I think, to dull the final knife.

She’s with me now, at one with singing birds
Yet I continue with these grasping words.

July 23, 2009

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