For Leslie and Margaret
With cats asleep, the sun’s awake in dreams;
I decorated twice, then shook my head,
removing off-chance reds and plastic greens--
then switched to Nature’s browns; I changed my bed.
The laundry calls, re-cycles claim my time;
And dust—in clumps—goes skittering in the wind.
Our rain is gone, no snow, I think that I’m
full ready to divest, re-claim my skin.
Where do we go in ‘mindful flights,’ I muse?
I’ve traveled here and there, then head for home.
What’s the shadowed self and where’s the real
when stripped to fear like meat stripped from the bone?
If nothing’s wrong with now, with cats, with love,
why can’t I grasp that perfect is enough?