That all is lost in a sentence, all that you must know, sticky feet, mouse.
There’s ice cream in the fridge; it’s 2 AM; perhaps a mouse will eat it.
All art breeds from hoarse descriptions, nightmares of sound, moon or not, cloudy.
As I approach, the sleeping feral cat turns…and we bow together.
The river is not so blind to us as we are to our emptiness.
The beaver never needs to see why we must pick so many flowers.
The river, with its lilac leaves and tiny eyes, sees what we leave here.