The cat was left
outside in the cold.
The streets swirled.
The people scurried over them.
And the show ponies
spoke amongst themselves
in abundant whispers.
I think everything is ok.
As long as you look down
into the drained rivers.
With unseeing and
uncaring eyes.
Accepting all of nature’s
sunless patterns.
​As for the cat.
​It did not live to
make itself a light.
​Or touch the yellow
​waves of the ocean.
It lay down
and died that day.
​