Sweaty nights and stagnant air,
miasma dressed in evening wear
as cats carouse above,
on the roof during witching hour,
thumping back and forth,
disturbing house so occupied
with past and present scenes,
as dreams step back into shadows,
yielding to cats playing on the roof,
who chase fireflies and tails
and dance with teasing breeze,
prancing upon the branches
of the occupant's reverie.
Excellent write. On my metal roof I've heard the sound of cats, squirrels, birds, and once, a bear, when I foolishly left a ladder against the roof.
Best regards,
Leland
Mary Angela Nangini's poems celebrate the richness of life and love. From the city to cottage-country and the roads in between, Nangini explores the changing seasons of her varied region. (This book will soon be reprinted in hard cover.)
David Hightower’s lyrically expansive meditation on the whims of fate and the unpredictability of the human condition fill the pages of THE HANGING MAN DREAMS with thrilling music and mesmerizing imagery. Hightower’s richly infused voice echoes the e
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Best regards,
Leland
and at my house it is raccoons and cats