Long gone, but back.
Sitting on the fence.
Flowers on a stick.
Keeping tabs on things.
Grabs my attention by the nose hairs.
As I walk by.
Sing a sweet, soft, quiet song.
That only mice and cats can hear.
Over the woods and across the trees.
To grandmother's hideout we go. For the annual howl-in.
Pauses momentarily. Before disinterring lunch.
Has nutty breath.
Because of what he eats.
May at times collect on the ground.
But they tend to melt fast.
Come and go. Like flowers.
And dog poop on the trail.
But I saw one once.
Color makes me hungry. Always.
I will go now and bite blue.
A woorday into awother norld.
Can change fou yorever.
Skeptical of reality, I stopped to look.
And was relieved to find it healthy in the grass.
Faces the bright truth.
Which is found anew each morning.
I've said it before and I'll say it again.
I just forgot what I was going to say.
Swinging their bells.
On a wet morning.
Little ball of fluff out on the tree.
Sitting there, sitting, and bitching at me.
Blossoms briefly rest on the pavement.
Is sometimes necessary.
To express the extraordinarily ordinarly.
Have once again flown in for summer.
And now they need a quiet little nap.
Step a wee with me.
Let's see where we go.
Not that it means anything.
But I am angular, and always right.
Every wall should have some.