Ruby Street

after all these years the cats are back and my mind still has its dust the moon trembles rain as a leaf is waiting to begin this fall of night the quarrel has no extension and no silence the house isn’t still but holds its own quiet

The fire exhales slowly. What you’re looking at doesn’t matter. Clouds make room for rain. Even my clothes are cold. You take your pick. All the while a cat picks out yards and grass.

* city moves through itself as forms list songs mysteries self that makes place image hides in the city no dreams journey with object’s place