On the Quiet Paws of Night

My cat has taught me
that the knock of opportunity
is a quiet sound. She wakes me
to an attitude of gratitude
as she peeks in the door and ambles by.

It might have been a dream
or maybe an overdose
of oxygen. It’s as if suddenly
the world has been bombed
with Crayola…

No meager discount box
but the giant sized, special edition
containing all one hundred
and twenty invigorating

I know now
this day can not be painted
without mango tango
and mountain meadow,
wisteria and wild watermelon.

Give me unmellow yellow
so I can paint forsythia.
Don’t leave out the almost bruised
of egg plant so that I can truly sate
the taste for aubergine.

When the painting is done
and twilight creates it’s special purple
mountain’s majesty, may it be true
I’ve taken only memories
and a dream to see me through tomorrow.




2 thoughts on “On the Quiet Paws of Night

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