twin moons

brighter than twin moons
high above the city streets
crane tower lights beam


What gift would delight?

a poem, you say

but words escape me

they launch themselves like sparrows

from the shrubbery

flitting and chittering high and away

I am left with their footprints in the dust

and a small grey feather

caught in a spider’s web

I hear their scolding

from the bare tree tops

poems, it seems, cannot be chased

if I sit quietly

one may light beside me

then, maybe then

with a little salt on its tail

will I make it mine

from the corner of my eye
I see cats

a dry leaf, wind blown,
an empty pop can rolling between seats
on the near-empty bus,
a lost bag in the shrubbery

I see cats from the corner of my eye
slide across the room in the late afternoon

cats that are not cats at all