Touch

Curled up by the fire.

Paws touch hands. One last blink. The

sound of flapping wings.

 

 

Name

My restless feather-picking cockatoo,
Can you tell why denial veils my ire
(In turn cloaking my fears; and those my shame)
And shame's shrouding my rusting grief? But you,
Confined inside a mesh—of metal wire—
Just raise your crest, that sulphur-yellow flame,

Lift up your wings, then start to pace your cell,
And squawk in bursts, as though your bill’s on fire;
My pet, enough! I care for you the same….
Perhaps beneath my grief some geysers spell
Love’s name!

Love: Do You Dare?

We lapped the icy water—Truth, 
some bulldog barking at the sun
had blocked the pathway to our homes. 
We passed the leaky hose around. 
Of loveless pets, the alley reeked.
"Love," I then heard some mother bark, 
"Come home, it's late, oh can't you see!?" 
To Truth I pointed, thinking: Love,
but do you dare?