the cat died, with his bowl
i buried them
dig a hole on window
air is fizzy
i see my cat's skin is put on another cat
between his toes have white feather
that is sign of heaven
the bowl has a crack
as a crooked nose
i stand under the juniper
listen to a poet's talking about his griefs
his griefs roar whole night
turn over my bed
the robin because of missing the cat
in the bosk censures loudly the poet
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment