How thin the night, a mole’s cry waking me. In dream
my ear was to the dark, an earthworm in its tunnel waiting.
I feel my brittle bones and smile. I am as fragile as winter grass.
I think of leaping to the floor and don’t.
Like my old cat I climb down slowly, accept
the smile of my woman who gives me coffee in the morning.
She makes me want to remember when we moved
naked in a summer far away.
How sweet our laughter on the grey stones touching...
and so the prince set out on the road to discover suffering
and gave his self up at the last. Ah, thinking won’t get me there
either.
My work is always close at hand. The cat purrs and offers me his
prey.
A headless mole, his fur the colour of the moon.
~ from The Quiet In Me (Harbour Publishing Co Ltd, 2022)
